Harry's War
by KatharineC
Summary: MacGyver faces Murdoc one more time. This time, his fourteen year old son is the target of Murdoc's revenge against his old nemesis. I hope you have fun reading this, and maybe cry a little. I always wanted to write a "dark and stormy night" story!


**Harry's War **

**Chapter One**

It was ten thirty at night as the white, fifty-six seat Champion bus wheezed its way up the steep hills leading through the Cascade Mountains, a logo of a blue phoenix flying across a blue and white circle, painted on the sides. Beneath the Phoenix Foundation logo, the words "Center for Exceptional Children" were written in blue.

Nikki Carpenter, director of the Phoenix Foundation, and the only adult aboard the bus, except for the driver, sat alone on the back seat, where she had full view of her charges, forty nine teenagers between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. As she typed into her laptop, she occasionally looked up to make sure that the kids who were awake behaved themselves. So far, so good.

The kids represented every possible race, national origin, religion and sex. While outwardly different, the teens were similar in that they all scored within the top one percent of the IQ range, or were so accelerated in a special talent that they, by far, surpassed any locally available teacher. Most dozed, but some read by the small, overhead seat lamps, or quietly tapped the controls of various electronic devices. She tapped up her picture file and scanned the images until she found the one she wanted – an older man, slightly heavy set, with no hair and a gentle smile – Pete Thornton. Whenever she doubted herself, she always looked at his picture and remembered his fight to make The Center for Exceptional Children a reality.

It was his last brain child and he lived just long enough to see it become, not only a reality, but also one of the most important resources for parents and educators of special needs children in the United States. The center supported exceptional children, whether gifted and talented, or challenged by learning or physical disabilities, through professional development for educators, after school enrichment classes, pedagogical research, medical research and referral services. The Center currently had branches in Los Angeles, New York, Charlotte, Minneapolis, and Olympia, Washington. Its staff and advisors included some of the most well respected names in education, pediatric neural medicine, pediatric orthopedics, pediatric and adolescent psychiatry, as well pediatric genetics.

However, the center's most popular programs were the Summer Enrichment Camps. Of the various types of camps the center offered, the most elite camp was the SAT camp. Standing for 'special abilities and talents', the SAT camp brought together tomorrow's most promising young mind's together to provide opportunities to explore their special fields of interest. It was an eight-week summer of independent, mentor supported study, accentuated by typical summer camp activities such as swimming, boating, and fun. In addition to providing academic acceleration, the center appealed to parents because of its supplementary goal of providing social training to children who, because of their extraordinary minds, often failed in social situations.

After Pete's death three years ago, there was a push to rename the center The Peter Thornton Center for Exceptional Children. However, the name was not changed because of emotional pleas from his family and closest friends, who declared that Pete would never have wanted such an ostentatious display of his name. Instead, his family requested that a simple, and small, memorial plaque be placed on the entrance wall of each branch, stating Pete's goals for the organization, and an abbreviated biography,along with his photograph.

In the past, the parents made their own arrangements to get their children to the SAT camp at Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington. On Nikki's suggestion however, this year, it was different. As part of Pete's goal to provide social enrichment, she wanted the kids to experience where each child came from – to see the differences between their cultures, then bridge those differences through team building activities at the camp. As a result, she applied for, and after a lot of begging, received the enormous grant that allowed the Phoenix Foundation to pick up each child at home, then transport them to the camp facilities. It was her baby and, so far, the trip turned out better than she anticipated.

Starting in Maine, Richmond, and Florida, three Phoenix Foundation buses meandered across the country stopping at apartments, suburban subdivisions, and farms to pick up the campers. Her bus started in Maine and took the northern route.

She smiled as she remembered the great overnight the kids spent in the farming district of Minnesota, sponsored by her old friend, MacGyver. Mac, and his wife Beth, delighted the teens with a tour of the MacGyver farm, by mule powered hay wagon, of course; fishing; and more food than could possibly be eaten by even the hungriest of teenage boys. The evening featured a showing of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" at an outdoor theater behind Beth MacGyver's business - a food co-op, then culminated in a camp out, complete with a bonfire, wieners on a stick, and marshmallows, behind Mac's home.

After an outdoor, farm-style breakfast buffet in the MacGyver's back yard, the bus pulled out on the last half of its trip across country to Olympia, one child richer - fourteen year old Harry Jackson MacGyver, Mac's youngest son.

Nikki's smiled broadened. Seeing Mac again after so many years was great. He was older, of course, but then so was she. And he'd put on a little weight, but then, so had she. His hair was gray, and cut short. She grinned. If not for regular care from L'Oreale on her part, she would be in the same boat. But, all in all, Mac was still the same – the same disarmingly boyish smile, the same quick wit, the same loving heart. She shook her head. Lost chances. Two failed marriages under her belt, Nikki wished she'd made a play for Mac when she had the chance. She sighed, then shook her head again and turned her attention back to her laptop. Mac was where he belonged. So was she.

She looked up when red blinking lights pulsed into the dim interior of the bus, and the driver slowed, then pulled the bus to a stop. Nikki set her laptop aside, then walked to the front of the bus. Outside, a semi-truck sat jack-knifed on the narrow, two-lane mountain road blocking both lanes. The truck's red tail lights blinked a warning. LED roadside flares flanked the truck. A middle aged man wearing a Panthers team logo hat, whom she assumed was the trucker, waved at the bus from the rear of the truck. Behind her, quiet teenage voices told her the stop awakened most of the kids. Nikki held on to the grab bar adjacent to the steps, and peered out the window as the trucker approached the bus. The driver popped open the door.

"Sorry 'bout the inconvenience, folks," the trucker said as he propped one foot on the bottom of the bus steps. "She overheated comin' up the grade 'n boiled over. You folks carryin' spare water?" he asked the driver.

The bus driver shook his head.

"That's a shame. Can't move it 'til I get the radiator filled. Not my truck, company truck. They'll have my head if I blow the engine."

Nikki shook her head. "Can't you just move it into one lane? We have to get to Olympia."

The driver climbed to the top of the bus steps, then studied the passengers. "All kids, precious cargo," he answered.

Before she could react, the trucker grabbed Nikki and slammed her against his chest. He pushed a gun with a very large muzzle to her temple. One of the girls screamed, and the man turned Nikki to face the children, the gun still to her head.

"Now you kids just settle down. If everyone cooperates, then nobody gets hurt. You got it?"

Nikki, locked tight in the man's iron grip, studied the frightened faces of the teens. "What do you want?" she asked the trucker behind her.

"I want _you_ out of the bus," he answered gruffly. Then he dragged her down the steps just as more men, all armed with automatic rifles, bolted from behind the truck. Locked in the trucker's arms, the gun still to her head, she was powerless as two men boarded the front of bus. Another ran to the back of the bus and climbed in the emergency exit. One more man stood by the back of the truck. Her elderly bus driver bolted to his feet in a weak attempt to stop the men from boarding, but was quickly overpowered. He was tossed, unconscious, out of the bus, blood flowing profusely from his head.

Nikki thought about her own gun carefully concealed in her purse, sitting on the back seat of the bus, as one of the men, the one with a long gray queue, addressed the teens from the front of the bus. "Here's what's gonna happen," he told the teens. "First off, no one is going to be a hero. Second, if any one tries, he's dead along with any other kids that happen to be in our line of fire. You got that?"

"Now," he started to explain. His sentence was interrupted by a rapid fire burst of gunshots. Nikki screamed along with the rest of the passengers. "Now there you go," the man told the teens when the gunfire ended. "That kid is dead. He tried to use his cell phone. I told you not to be heroes." He shook his head and nodded toward his trigger happy partner. "Jess here don't like heroes."

Nikki imagined the children's terror. The girls weeped, along with some of the boys. Which one of them was now dead? She struggled to free an arm, but her captor tightened his grip and shoved the gun harder against her temple.

"Like I was saying," the spokesman on the bus continued, "Here's what's gonna happen. All you kids are to set your purses and backpacks in the aisle. Then you, and you," he told two of the front row girls, "are gonna collect all of the bags and bring them up here. Do it NOW!" he shouted.

Nikki watched as the girls moved back and forth up and down the aisle. The pile of bags by the driver's seat grew. The girls finished and sat back down. The man with the queue told the teens, "Okay, so far, so good. You're doing just fine. Now my friend in the back of the bus is going to search everyone of you. Be cooperative."

The man in the back of the bus slowly worked his way forward, up one side, then back down the other. Each child was required to stand and, with arms outstretched, thoroughly searched. Nikki's anger increased to boiling when the man' hands lingered over the girls' breasts as he searched them. Again, Nikki struggled. She broke free, but was rewarded with a hard fist to her stomach. She collapsed to her knees, her wind knocked out. Without ceremony, the man grabbed her by her hair and pulled her back against his chest.

"You can't get away with this," Nikki growled at the man holding her. "This is a well traveled road. Someone will come along. You'll be seen. Let us go."

The man chuckled. "Do you think we're that stupid?" he answered. "We've blocked the road a mile back in either direction."

"Why are doing this?"

"You'll find out soon enough, Ms. Carpenter," he answered.

"If you know who am, then you know that my associates can..." she started to tell him. He cut her off with a rough jerk of her hair.

"Shut up or I'll have Jess punish another one of those kids," he whispered in her ear.

When the man who searched the teens finished, he went to the pile of purses and backpacks, and extracted all of the cell phones. He dropped them into his own backpack. He smiled like a kid when he found Nikki's gun. He shoved it into his belt. Finished, he nodded at the man with the queue.

"Very good, boys and girls. I see you all know how to follow directions," the spokesman told them. "For your next test, you're going to stand, one seat at a time, when we tell you, and get into the back of that truck over there. If any one tries to make a break for it, well, I don't guess I need to tell you what will happen, do I? Do you understand?" He must have been satisfied with the teens' responses, because he nodded at one of his partners who then waved at the first row of seats. The children stood, disembarked and were loaded into the rig.

When all of the children were loaded, her captor shoved Nikki against the side of the bus. As he held, what she now saw was a Glock G20 to her face, the same man who searched the teens, searched her and retrieved her cell phone. Finally, she was shoved into the back of the semi with the teenagers, along with her still unconscious driver and the dead teenager.

**Chapter Two**

Mac curled up on the sofa, a cup of tea on the lamp table within easy reach, and his newly acquired copy of Cool Stuff Exploded, a modern reincarnation of How Things Work, in his hands. His wife, Beth, sat across the room in her favorite easy chair, a ball of wool yarn in her lap, knitting needles in her hand. He smiled at her. Knitting was her newest project now that she was a grandmother. She looked so cute, the yarn twined in her fingers, the multicolored glove growing on her needles. She chewed her lip in fierce determination as she manipulated the four small double pointed needles. One of the needles slipped from her fingers and she cursed, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

"You okay over there?" he asked.

She shook her head without looking at him. "This is the worst glove I've ever seen," she answered as she retrieved the needle, then threaded it back into the knitting. "I don't think I can learn to dodouble-pointed needle knitting."

Mac grinned. He knew Beth could learn to do anything she wanted. "Molly will love those gloves when you finish them," he encouraged her.

Beth looked up and smiled. "They _are_ kind of cute, aren't they. Black and purple." She slipped her hand between the square of fabric created between the four needles and inserted her hand into the unfinished glove. "Purple fingers," she answered as she wriggled a glove finger in his direction.

The doorbell rang. Mac frowned and set his book aside. He wrinkled his brow and looked at Beth. "Are we expecting company?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "Maggie maybe? The baby was colicky this morning."

Mac stood and walked to the door. He opened it to find Neil, his friend and the chief of police for Mission City, standing at the door, his cap in his hand. Beside him stood a man in a dark gray suit, a badge clipped to his belt. Sudden fear ripped through Mac's chest – a parent's fear. Images of his children; his daughter-in-law, Maggie; and his little granddaughter, Katie; flashed through his mind, as well as the memory from his childhood when another policeman showed up at the door. At least Molly, home for summer vacation, was safely in her room. He felt Beth's hand on his back, and he instinctively reached for her.

"Neil?" he asked.

"Mac, can we come in?" Neil asked.

Mac gently pulled Beth to his side, then made room for the men to enter. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Neil shook his head. "Think we can sit down?"

Mac motioned to the parlor. With a worried look at his wife, he followed the men into the room and offered seats. The men sat in the easy chairs that flanked the parlor window. Mac and Beth sat on the sofa, their hands entwined. Mac felt Beth's fingers tremble beneath his, and he stroked them with his thumb. "What's going on, Neil?" Mac asked again.

Neil took a deep breath, he pointed at the man in the gray suit. "This is Special Agent Donaldson of the FBI," he told them. "I'll let him explain why we're here." Mac introduced his wife.

The agent rearranged his coat, then asked, "Mr. And Mrs. MacGyver, when was the last time you heard from your son, Harry?"

Harry, it was about Harry – as usual. Mac rolled his eyes then shook his head trying to remember. "Um, dinner. He called just after we sat down to eat," he told the agent with a glance at his wife to confirm the information. "What has Harry done, now? Is he all right?" Mac demanded. Harry, of his three children was the one that was the most difficult to control. He was headstrong, often belligerent – especially to Mac, and courageous to a fault. There was no question that Harry was, of his three children, the one that he most often, no, usually, butted heads against.

The agent fumbled inside his coat while he answered. "At this time, we are not sure, Mr. MacGyver. Two hours ago, at approximated eight thirty pm Pacific time, a Washington state patrolman reported an abandoned bus parked on an undeveloped stretch of Highway Two between Berne and Skyhomish, Washington. There was a large amount of blood on the bus." He pulled a palm pilot from his pocket.

Mac's chest heaved and he sucked in his breath. Beth's hand tightened into a tight ball beneath his fingers.

"The bus was traced back to the Phoenix Foundation," the agent added. Mac's heart hammered in his throat. "The highway patrol contacted that organization and confirmed that the identification markers on the bus matched the one transporting your child, Harry, to summer camp along with forty eight other teenagers, and two adults," the FBI agent told him. "They also confirmed that neither the driver, the chaperon, nor any of the passengers contacted any one at the camp, nor the Phoenix Foundation to report any problems. No distress calls were made to nine-one-one concerning the bus," Agent Donaldson added. "I am here because the passengers of the bus are primarily minors. Since missing children fall under Federal jurisdiction, the highway patrol contacted the FBI as soon their initial search turned up no signs of the bus' occupants. Using the permission slips completed by the parents that are on file at the Phoenix Foundation, the home addresses of all of the children were obtained. FBI headquarters in Seattle then contacted local agents, like myself, who work in close proximity to the children's homes, to inform and interview the guardians." Agent Donaldson explained.

Mac shook his head. "The bus was abandoned?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "Call Harry," he said aside to Beth. She reached for the phone on the table beside her.

"Yes, sir," the agent responded. "You said you were eating dinner when your son called. Can you remember exactly what time that was?" he asked.

"I put the food on the table at six. He called just after we started to eat," Beth answered as she dialed.

"You searched the countryside for signs that they might have set off on foot?" Mac asked.,

The agent nodded, then continued his questions. "Did Harry call you from a cell or a land line?" the agent asked.

"His cell, I think, but he didn't say." Beth told him as she listened to the receiver. She looked at Mac. "I assumed it was his cell phone."

"I'll need that number," the agent told them as he tapped information into his palm pilot. "Did Harry indicate that there was trouble of any kind at that time?" the agent asked.

Mac shook his head. "He was fine. He was happy. He said they stopped to eat dinner and have ice cream at a restaurant called The Beacon in, I don't know, somewhere in Montana."

Beth slowly hung up the phone, then looked at Mac. "He doesn't answer. His voice mail is on."

The agent added Mac's comments to his digital notes. "Along with his cell number, I need a recent photograph of Harry and his physical description," the agent continued. Beth reached for her photo album on the coffee table. "A digital would be more convenient, if possible," the agent told her.

"Have you sent out an Amber Alert, yet?" Mac asked.

The agent shook his head. "Amber alert guidelines specifically state that law enforcement must confirm that a child be at risk for serious bodily harm or death before an alert can be issued. At this time, we have no evidence to indicate that an abduction has taken place, or that the children are in imminent danger," the agent explained.

Mac's eyes narrowed. "You mean to tell me that you don't think those kids are in imminent danger?" he asked, then shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me. They abandon a bloody bus in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, and disappear?" His voice rose in anger. "And you don't think they're in danger?"

Agent Donaldson shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Sir. As soon as we have confirmed that none of the children have contacted their parents to tell them all is well, or if new evidence develops prior to completion of the parent interviews, then an Amber Alert _will_ be issued. We are not stalling on this, Mr. MacGyver. We are simply making sure our ducks are in a row," he explained. "Tell me, Sir. Can you imagine what would happened if we issued an Amber Alert without just cause? The system works because America believes in it. We can't let it become a mechanism for people to cry wolf."

Mac backed off as he caught a slight movement through his peripheral vision. He glanced at the hallway where his nineteen year old daughter, Molly stood. He waved her over and gently pulled her down on the seat beside him. "This is our daughter," he introduced. "Molly, has Harry called you within the last few hours?" he asked her.

She shook her head, then pulled her compact phone from her pocket, flipped it open then looked at her father. "Dead battery. Why was Harry's bus abandoned?" she asked quietly.

Mac wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "We don't know, yet," he explained.

"Is he okay?" she asked.

Mac jumped when the land line rang. Beth reached for the receiver, but the agent held up his palm signaling her to wait before answering. "Where's an extension?" he asked quickly. The phone rang again.

"Kitchen wall phone," Mac answered as he pointed the way and stood. The phone rang for the third time.

The agent bolted for the kitchen. He signaled for Mac to answer as he passed. "You answer, not your wife."

Mac lifted the receiver. He heard a slight click as the agent picked up the kitchen wall phone. "Hello?" he said into the handset.

"Dad?" Mac looked at Beth and shook his head.

It was Sam, his eldest son. "Sam, look, I need to keep this line clear. Can I call you back?" Mac told his oldest son.

"Yeah, but Dad. Is something wrong with Harry?" Sam asked.

Mac's brow furrowed. "Where are you Sam? Are you at home?" Mac asked. Sam's home was across the street but, Sam was supposed to be on assignment in Washington, D.C. How could he possibly know there was something wrong with Harry if he was still in Washington, Mac wondered?

"No, I'm still back east doing that op on Michelle Obama," Sam answered.

"Then how did you know..." Mac started to ask, but Sam interrupted him.

"Listen, Dad, I just got the strangest text from Harry. What's going on?" Sam demanded.

Mac looked back down at Beth, then at Molly. They huddled together on the sofa.

"When Sam, when did you get the text? What did he say?" Mac asked.

"Just about five minutes ago. Dad, what's going on?" Sam demanded again.

"Sam, what did the text say?" Mac asked again, impatience leaked through his voice.

"It was weird," Sam told him. "It says, 'sos ct 20 bg truck 2.5 hrs no eta call dad ld'. He spelled out the message. "I texted him back, but he never answered me. I tried to called him but, his voice mail's on, so he's not taking calls. I got worried. Dad what's going on?"

"Read it to me again," Mac instructed as he rummaged through the small table's drawer for a pad and pen. Sam spelled it out while Mac wrote it down. "I haven't a clue what this means. Why can't he use real words?" Mac muttered. Then back to Sam, "Harry's bus was found abandoned in Washington State. No one knows where the kids are. The FBI is here. Keep your phone on and let me know if Harry contacts you again," Mac instructed.

"Oh God," Sam answered. "I'm coming home, Dad," he added.

Mac grimaced, then nodded. "Thanks, Sam." He hung up and handed the paper, with Harry's text, to Beth. Molly looked over her mother's shoulder and read as the FBI agent came back into the room.

"I know what sos is, 'save our souls', and ct usually means can't talk, bg is big, eta is time of arrival," Molly interpreted as she studied the paper. 'ld' is later dude," she looked up at her father. "Harry says that all the time in his texts," she explained.

The agent took the paper from Beth and studied the cryptic text, while Mac and Neil looked over his shoulder. "What about cod?" the agent asked. "Cash on delivery?" he pondered.

Mac looked down at Molly. She shrugged her shoulders. "Cod crv, - I don't know," she studied the message again. "Help. Can't talk, 20? I don't understand what 20 means, Big Truck, cod? Crv? Mountains, maybe? 2 and ½ hours? No time of arrival, call dad, later dude," she translated. "I'm just guessing," she shrugged and looked at her father.

"Molly, if you charge your battery, any messages that were sent to you while your phone was dead will come through, right?" Mac asked her. For the first time in his life he regretted that he'd let the cell phone phenomenon pass him by. While they both had them, neither he nor Beth regularly carried their cells. Beth, as a mom, carried hers more than he did. And, neither of them _ever_ texted. The kids knew to always call the land line first.

Molly nodded, "Yeah."

"Good, get your charger. And get my cell out of my night stand drawer while you're at it," Mac instructed. "Oh, and you better get my charger, too. It's in the same drawer," he added. "Beth where's your cell phone?"

"In the kitchen," she answered, as she bolted to her feet.

A quick check on Beth's phone showed there was, indeed, a text from Harry that simply read, "tell dad check his cell I love you."

After plugging in Molly and Mac's phones, they found two more messages from Harry. All had been sent within minutes of Sam's. Molly's was identical to Sam's. Mac's however was different. It said, "sos kidnapped bad guys guns up mt rd 2.5 hrs still moving peterbuilt two dead dont call phone off ilu dad." Mac's heart broke. According to the time stamps, Harry's message to him was sent first, then Beth's, followed by Sam's and last of all, Molly's. Mac swore to himself that his cell would, never again, sit in his night stand drawer while his children were away from home,

Molly tilted his cell to read the message. She leaned her cheek against her father's shoulder. "ilu," she read aloud. "He said 'I love you', Dad."

Mac closed his eyes, then wrapped one arm around Molly's shoulder. It seemed like forever since Harry said those words to him. So many of their conversations were in anger. Seeing that simple 'ilu' now brought tears to his eyes. He handed the phone to Agent Donaldson. "Is that the new evidence you need to issue that Amber Alert?" The agent nodded and opened his own cell. He stepped away from the family into the hall for privacy.

When Donaldson returned, he told the MacGyvers, "Almost all of the agents have checked in. As far as we can tell, the messages from your son are the only ones that have been received. Considering the fact that virtually all of the teenagers on the bus, the chaperon, and the driver all had cells... " he let his sentence drop. "As we speak, Amber Alerts are being issued for forty nine children. It is the largest Amber Alert in the program's history. Every person in America, every news station, all emergency personnel will be looking for those children within thirty minutes," Donaldson explained. "If you will hand me your phones, I need to forward all of your messages from Harry to my phone," he instructed.

Mac scanned the faces of the FBI man, Neil, Beth and Molly as the agent tapped each of the phones keypads. A nagging memory drifted across his thoughts. It was a dream, just like this, but it was so vague he couldn't pull the memory to the surface. Finally, he shook off the memory and said to Beth, "Call Maggie. Get her and the baby to come over her and stay with you. I want all of you together. Sam's on his way. And Beth, pack for me," he instructed. "One change of clothes in my backpack." He checked his wallet and counted his cash. "And I need all of the cash you have, as well as the American Express card. Oh, and I need the car charger for my cell."

"You're going to go find him, aren't you?" she asked him quietly.

Mac nodded as he reached for the land line. Beth bolted upstairs. He dialed, drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for an answer. "Jack! Get dressed. I'll pick you up in..." he checked his watch. "In fifteen minutes. Don't argue! I'll explain when I get there." He slammed the phone down and checked his pockets – knife, where was his knife? He found it in its usual pocket.

"Now hold on, Mr. MacGyver," Agent Donaldson barked as Mac headed for the door. "The _FBI _will handle this investigation. What I need for you and your family to do is to sit here and monitor your phones."

Mac looked at the agent. "Yeah, right." Mac told him. He pushed past the agent and out the door. Beside the house stood Mac's secondary income, his repair shop. Inside he flicked on the bare overhead bulb. He grabbed a roll of duct tape and a small roll of picture wire. "What else? What else?" he muttered as he rummaged through his work room. He found a cigarette lighter that he used for his acetylene torch, and a handful of paper clips, as well as a small piece of sandpaper. He shoved everything into the deep pockets of his cargo pants, followed by tweezers, a few random nuts and bolts, and a few rubber bands. A ball point pen went into his shirt pocket. He ran back into the house.

His wife handed him his backpack followed by a small wad of currency wrapped around an American Express credit card. "It's only fifty dollars – grocery money. I also packed you a jacket, just in case, and extra socks," she told him. Then she added, "And here's your cell, and the charger."

Mac nodded. He stuffed the phone and charger into his cargo pockets, slipped the Amex and money into his wallet. "With what I have, that gives me a hundred and fifteen dollars and my Mastercard – it'll have to do," he answered. He shouldered the backpack then pulled his wife into his arms. "I'll find him," he whispered in her ear. "I swear, I'll find him." She looked up at him and he kissed her. He kissed her hard and deep – enough of a kiss to last until he saw her again. No, not enough, but it would have to do.

Molly, his sweet Molly, his blond bombshell of a daughter, stood nearby. He smiled at her and pulled her into his arms. "You take care of your Mom," he whispered in her ear. She wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug. "I love you, Daddy," she whispered back.

He grabbed the paper with the text messages from Harry from the table and started out the door, but Agent Donaldson caught his arm . "Mr. MacGyver, there is really nothing you can do. You just need to wait here and let us handle this," he told Mac.

Mac ripped his arm from the man's grasp and bolted to his truck.

Neil touched the agent's shoulder. "Obviously, you don't know MacGyver very well," he told the agent.

**Chapter Three**

Sam Malloy jerked open the hotel dresser drawers, grabbed his clothes and tossed them on the bed. He bolted to the bathroom where he grabbed his toiletries in one swipe of his arms, then dumped those on the bed with his clothes. Not caring about wrinkles, he jammed everything into his carry-on bag. Next, taking slightly more care, he packed his camera equipment into its bag, then jammed his notes into his laptop case. He looped the straps to his three cases on his shoulders with one last look around the room. As he left, he pulled out his stylus and typed a text on his Blackberry to his boss explaining that he had a family emergency and needed to return home.

His partner, Bill Martel occupied the room next door to his. Sam banged on his door. "Bill! Hey Bill!" he shouted, impatient for his partner to answer. He banged again, then Martel answered dressed in boxers, a full head of bed hair.

"Damn it, Sam, its almost midnight!" Martel growled, then yawned and scratched his hairy chest.

"Bill, I've got to bail. I've got trouble at home," Sam answered.

"Oh man, is it the kid?" Martel asked.

Sam shook his head. "No, every thing's okay with Mags and Katie. It's my kid brother, he's missing," Sam answered. "Look, I got to get to the airport. I'll text you about it when I get settled in on the plane. Here's our itinerary for tomorrow." He shoved a sheet of paper into Martel's hand. "Don't forget to get some shots of Michelle's garden tomorrow," Sam instructed. "And here are the shots we took at the banquet," he added as he handed his partner a flash drive. Without waiting for a response, he bolted down the hall and jabbed the elevator button.

While he waited for the doors to slide open, Martel shouted down the hall to him. "Hey man, I'm sorry, really. I hope they find the kid."

Sam nodded his head. "So do I, Bill. So do I."

At the concierge, he requested flight schedules, selected a flight to Minneapolis, paid for his flight, completed the online check-in and requested a taxi. Within thirty minutes, Sam bolted into Ronald Reagan National Airport, just in time to pick up his boarding pass, go through all of the various check stations, and board Northwest's non-stop flight to Minneapolis.

Finally seated, Sam took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He checked to see if there were any more messages from Harry, or from home, then set his Blackberry on flight profile. His flight to Minneapolis was two and one half hours long, plenty of time for a nap. Who knew when he would get to sleep once he arrived? With ten years working for CNN after college under his belt, he'd learn to sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself. He closed his eyes, but all he could see behind his lids was Harry's face.

Sam opened his eyes and stared at the lights from the terminal as the plane's engine roared to life. "Oh hell, Harry," he whispered. He remembered the last time he saw his kid brother.

Harry and their dad were arguing, as usual. This time, it was about the tattoo. Harry wanted a tattoo. Dad said no. Harry said he was going to get one anyway. Dad said it would be over his dead body. Harry yelled, 'well that won't be soon enough for me." Mom yelled at Harry. Molly yelled at Harry. Dad just left the room. As usually happens when they fought, Harry retreated into the loft of Sam's old barn. Sam smiled to himself. If their Dad knew what Harry kept in that loft, he'd be very surprised, very proud, and _very_ angry.

Then there was the to-do over Harry's Facebook page! Who knows what internal demon possessed the boy to post directions on how to make a firecracker, albeit a small one. When Dad found out, after a call from the school principal, Sam thought he was going to have a coronary! Harry not only lost INTERNET rights for six months, he also lost his computer. Sam shook his head. The boy had some mechanism hardwired into his brain that seemed to be designed for no other purpose than to get him trouble with his father.

The plane gently rocked, then began its taxi down the runway. Sam closed his eyes again. Two and half hours. In just two and a half hours he could hold his little girl, kiss his wife - find out how Harry fitted in the disappearance of the kids from the Phoenix Foundation bus.

**Chapter Four**

From the meager interior lights inside the truck bed, Harry MacGyver watched the one guard who sat in the back of truck with the hostages. The man was about his dad's age, but with greasy long hair tied in a pony-tail, an automatic rifle of some kind across his lap. The guard tapped his foot to what ever music he listened to through ear buds trailing down to his t-shirt pocket. Around the guard was a five feet radius of open space. The rest of the truck was jammed with kids trying to sit as far away from the guard as possible. Mrs. Carpenter sat nearest the guard, between the bodies of the dead bus driver and the dead kid. She was pretty smeared with blood from doing CPR on the driver.

Harry checked his watch. They'd been on the road for nearly three hours now, and he had to pee something fierce. He tried to calculate the distance they'd traveled. He figured they couldn't have been going more than thirty five miles per hour while they were on the curvy mountain road. At two and a half hours, at that rate, he figured they'd gone eighty-seven point five miles. Then about thirty minutes ago, the curves stopped and, by the sound of the hum of the tires, the truck seemed to have sped up. Okay, he thought. Maybe between forty five and fifty five miles per hour - average it to fifty and that was an additional twenty five miles making it one hundred and twelve miles, give or take.

He pictured the United States map in his head, then homed in on Minnesota. Using landmarks, as thought markers on his mental map, he envisioned how far a hundred and twelve miles might be. Then he extrapolated that distance onto his mental picture of the west coast. Since they were now in mountainous terrain, not flat like back home, he figured some distance would be lost to elevation changes. He shortened his mental distance extrapolation by about ten percent to account for that. Harry didn't know if that was right, but at least it was something to work with. He also wasn't sure how much distortion was involved. Since maps were flat, and the earth was round, no map, Harry knew, was exactly accurate. Most of the distortion occurred at the map edges – exactly where he was located on his mental map of the US.

He also didn't know what direction they were headed. So, he drew a thought circle around the last landmark he remembered, of which he knew the location, at least sort of, on the map – Stephen's Pass - then expanded it to take in his distance calculations. If he guessed correctly, that put them between Seattle to the west, Mount Ranier to the south, Mount Baker to the north, and halfway to Spokane in the east. Harry sighed. If he was right, then they were still somewhere within the Cascade Mountain Range. Most of the area was remote – Big Foot country. It was a place into which people could easily disappear. But then again, because of the rough terrain, he mused, there couldn't be _that_ many roads either.

He studied the kids from the bus. Some of girls quietly weeped. An Asian boy about Harry's age, had wet himself and was trying to cover the wet spot with his hands. Another one of the girls near him, her face and her clothes spattered in blood, stared into space and rocked her body forwards and backwards, her arms crossed over her chest. She was the prettiest girl on the bus, with long dark red hair that was so curly it seemed to live a life of its own, and cat-like green eyes. She dressed _really_ cool too, in some kind of black, thigh length oriental tunic-like thing over tight, black jeans. The fact that she wore Vans was a good sign. Earlier in the day, before everything got screwed up, he managed to slip into the booth beside her at the last restaurant stop. She was from New York, she told him and was one of the first kids picked up. Her name was Magenta – after the character in Rocky Horror. It fit. She had the same red hair, but while the movie character's hair was weird, hers softly frizzed down her back. It was loosely gathered with a ribbon halfway down. She was a musician, not one the geeks. She went to the Julliard. Harry grimaced. He felt really bad for her. She had been sitting next to the kid that got shot. She continued to rock, and he worried about her.

Harry reached into the left ankle of his high top Vans and touched the Sony Ericsson W350 carefully tucked against his ankle. It was a piece of crap phone. He wanted an IPhone, but at least it texted and had music capabilities. So far, he thought, he'd been lucky - not once, but twice.

To start with, while the man had searched the kids, Harry realized he was blocked from the view of the other guards. The man doing the searching could see him, but his attention was on his job. It gave Harry just enough time to slip his phone into his high top before he was searched. Harry smiled. The guard was so busy searching the many massive pockets of Harry's black, over-sized Tripp cargo pants, he never got around to the Vans.

Second, with the truck bed so crammed full of kids, he'd been able to hide behind some of the bigger teens and fire off a few texts. Hopefully, someone would see them and figure out where they were headed. Harry sighed and shook his head. Not his dad. His dad never even turned on his phone. Jeez, Dad was such a dork. But maybe Mom – Molly for sure. Sam was in D.C., but he always had his phone on – a Blackberry no less, one that didn't butt dial. Harry nodded. Sam would get it. Sam always got it. Harry wished Sam was his dad.

Sure that his phone was secure, he slowly crawled through the tangle of kids, while keeping a careful watch on the guard. He thumbed for the kid who sat beside the red-haired girl to move, then slid in beside her. He slipped his arm around her. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Hey, its gonna be okay," he whispered to her.

"He just shot him," she whispered. He could hear the pain in her voice.

Harry pulled her closer into his arms. "We're gonna get out of this. You wait and see," he answered. "I'll think of something."

Suddenly the truck slowed. Harry felt the gentle tug of centripetal force as the truck made a left turn. He checked his watch again. Then checked the guard. The man was still wide awake, but he wasn't watching Harry any more than the any of the kids. Harry looked at Magenta, her head still on his shoulder. He buried his face into her thick curls, and whispered in her ear. "Don't answer me. I've got to do something, and I can't let the guard see me."

She glanced up at him, her eyebrows raised. Harry glanced back at the guard, then looked around him. They were near one of the back corners of the truck, farthest away from the armed guard. Harry whispered to Magenta, "I'm going to move behind you and lay down. Stay where you are and don't turn around to see what I'm doing. Cough if the driver seems more interested in me than usual." He ;ulled his arm from her shoulder, then yawned. He stretched and, watching the guard, slipped his cell from his high top. He quickly palmed it, yawned again, then slid back behind Magenta and laid down. Hidden behind Magenta, and the other kids around her, Harry hesitated, then opened his phone. For once, he was thankful that his school banned cells. It meant he always kept it on silent mode.

The screen showed several texts from Sam, one from Molly, and one from an unknown number. There was also a missed call from Sam, and two from home. He checked the messages from Sam first. In the first one, Sam asked Harry to be more specific – more details. The second one said to call him as soon or possible. The third message, the one from home was from his mom. She said Dad was on his way and they loved him. Harry's heart did a flip flop as a picture of his mom, worried sick about him, came into his head. The message from Molly, told him that their dad and the FBI were on their way to find him, and asked him for more details. She also abbreviated that Dad had his cell on and she'd showed him how to read and send texts. But, she reminded Harry, Dad didn't know text code. There was also an admonishment to be careful. The last message claimed to be from the FBI and told him to keep his phone turned on so it could be tracked. Harry curled his lip. "Yeah, right," he thought. What he really didn't need was for the phone to vibrate, with its quiet hum, when Pete Dalton or one of his other friends sent him a text or, worse yet, called him. Harry craned his neck and checked the guard, who still rocked to his music. Harry typed a new message, then hit the send button. He turned off then closed it before he slipped it back into his shoe.

Harry looked up to check the guard one more time and saw Mrs. Carpenter watching him, but thankfully, the guard wasn't. He tapped Magenta on the shoulder. She turned around and he pulled her down beside him. "Help is on the way," he whispered as she tucked her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her. "Try to sleep. You're gonna need it," he added.

**Chapter Five**

Mac, his old friend Jack Dalton seated beside him in his truck, pushed the accelerator to the floor. Back before Harry was born, Jack maintained a small airstrip and hangar on the back pasture of what used to be Mac's grandfather's property, part of which Mac deeded to Sam for a wedding present. It was convenient for Jack, but not for his passengers. Ten years ago, with enough capital saved up, and some minor investors, such as Mac, Jack moved his air taxi company to Mission City Municipal airport (MCM) on the other side of town. Under normal circumstances, it took a little over thirty minutes to reach from home. But on this occasion, Mac made the trip in ten minutes, thanks to Neil provided radioed ahead for police clearance.

As soon as they pulled up to the hangar, Jack bolted out of the truck and ran for the hangar while Mac locked the truck and grabbed their bags. Thankfully, Jack always kept his sky taxi ready to go in only a moment's notice. As a result, the pre-flight check, could be accomplished quickly and efficiently.

Mac urged Jack to hurry. "Not gonna happen, old pal. Neither of us will do Harry any good if we don't make it in one piece," Jack answered. He pointed to his map cabinet against one wall of the hangar. "While I'm doing this," he added. "You need to figure out just where the hell we're going so I can file a flight plane."

Mac jogged to thechest high cabinet. Thanks to Jack's wife's organizational skills, the maps were neatly laid out in drawers coded by location. Mac pulled open the drawer for the Pacific Northwest and rummaged until he the found the right map. He rolled it into a tube as he jogged back to the plane.

As he waited for Jack to finish the pre-flight check, Mac pulled the paper with the messages from Harry from his pocket and studied them. Harry was trying to tell them where he was. Putting all of the messages together, Mac knew that Harry and the rest of the kids had been kidnapped by men with guns and that two people were dead. Not Harry, thank God, not Harry, he thought. But Nikki, Mac wondered, what about Nikki? The other messages indicated that the kids had been loaded onto a Peterbilt truck. That type of truck was the biggest name in tractor trailer rigs. "Good information, Harry," Mac muttered. Also, the truck was traveling up mountain roads. Mac slapped his forehead. Harry wrote "cod crv." "C.O.D. Curves," Mac muttered. That meant _sharp_ curves. The "2.5 hrs no eta" obviously meant the truck was still moving after two and a half hours. "Good, Harry," Mac muttered again.

Jack jogged to his side. "Okay pal, where we going?" he asked.

"Pacific Northwest. Head for Olympia, we'll figure out more after we get in the air."

Jack nodded. "Stow our gear while I check in, and file a preliminary flight plan," he answered, then headed for the flight office.

As Mac shoved his, and Jack's, travel bags behind the cockpit, his cell vibrated, then chimed. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the incoming message. It was from Harry. Mac breathed a sigh of relief. Harry was still alive. The message said, "2.9 hrs left turn think 110 to 120 miles from Stephen's Pass rough paved rd kids scared hurry." Mac smiled. Harry was not only alive, he was still on the ball. Now Mac knew the truck with the kids had turned onto what was probably a smaller side road. And, he had a starting point from which to look. As he read, the phone chimed and another message came through. Mac fumbled with closing the first message, then answered the second. This one was from Sam.

"Got new message from Harry. Forwarding it to you. I'm in the air, arrive MCM just after one thirty am your time. Will call on arrival. Do you know how to send a text? Prove it, answer me," the message said. Mac's message alert chimed again. He checked the new message, saw it was the forwarded message from Harry - the same one he'd received just a moment ago. Mac closed the message and, following Molly's earlier instructions, sent Sam a text that said, "Proof enough? Harry texted me too. Leaving MCM with Jack now. Destination Olympia, Dad." He hit the send button.

Mac climbed into the cockpit, then stared at his phone. Harry told him, in one of his texts, not to call. But texting? While he waited for Jack, Mac typed. "I love you, no matter what. No matter how angry I get. No matter how angry you get. You are my son. I will not lose you to our differences, or to bad guys. I will find you. Trust that will happen. Trust. And DONT TAKE CHANCES. Dad. " As Jack climbed into the pilot's seat, Mac hit 'send'.

One more message came in before Mac closed his phone. It was from Sam and said, "Good job. I'm diverting to Olympia, via Sea-Tac, from Minneapolis to help. Will call when I land. I'll probably beat you there."

"Damn," Mac muttered.

"What?" asked Jack.

"Sam's coming to Olympia. I don't even know if that is where we're going to end up," Mac answered. "I wanted him to go stay with Beth. Molly and his family," he added.

"Hmff," Jack answered as he buckled up, then fitted on his headphones and microphone. "He's your kid through and through. Think you can keep him away?" Jack shook his head. "Besides, you know how it is with Sam and Harry. Those two are as tight as thieves," he added.

Mac nodded then stared out the window as Jack revved the engine, then nudged the small plane to the runway. He tuned out Jack's chatter with the tower. He shook his head. He didn't know what to do about Harry.

The boy was the only child that Mac and Beth shared. Sam was his by a past love; Molly from Beth's first husband, who died during Desert Storm. Harry was a late child for both us them, but everything seemed to work out just great until Harry turned about twelve. Then the fights started.

Mac took a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. He shook his head again. No one ever loved a boy more than he loved Harry. Mac loved Sam with a passion, but Sam was grown when he met him for the first time. He missed all of the baby bonding. Now, Sam was thirty-four years old and had a family of his own. Molly, well, Mac smiled. Even though she was not his biological daughter, no father was ever prouder of, or more deeply in love with a daughter than he was with Molly. Because she was only a toddler when Mac and Beth married, he had the chance to watch her grow into a beautiful young woman of nineteen. She even used his last name. But Molly was a girl. Girls are different, he thought. From the time you put on them on this earth, a father knows that he'll have to pass her on to another man. Besides, he and Molly were 'in sync' as it were. She was his fishing buddy, the one who liked to camp and hike with him. And, Mac smiled, she could out climb him any day. But Harry. Oh, Harry.

No matter what he tried with his youngest son, it just didn't seem to work out. Harry hated camping, at least with him – although he'd go with Sam. He hated hockey. He certainly didn't want anything to do with climbing, at least not anymore. All Harry wanted to do was mess with computers and listen to music.

It didn't used to be that way. Harry showed an early inclination for mechanics and engineering, which delighted Mac. He spent hours in the workshop with the boy showing him how circuits and mechanical parts worked, and teaching him the basic laws of physics. By the time Harry was ten, he could fix most small household appliances that came into Mac's workshop for repair. It was a great time. Since Mac taught science at the alternative high school, having Harry back him up in the small workshop was a Godsend. Mac let him keep the salary profits from whatever he fixed, so Harry was earned some good money to put away for college.

Then Harry turned twelve and everything seemed to change overnight. Mac shook his head again as Jack banked the plane into a smooth curve and headed west.

"Okay, buddy boy," Jack said. "Pull those maps out and let's see where we're heading," Jack instructed.

Mac nodded and unrolled the map. "Harry said in one of his texts that they were kidnapped near Stephen's Pass. The FBI agent at the house backed that up when he said the bus was found on Highway 2," Mac explained to Jack. He ran his finger across the map until he located the highway, then Stephen's pass. Using his knuckle as a measuring tool, he measured out two hundred miles, just for good measure, to the east, the west, the north and the south, then circled the area with his pen. Apparently Harry's been keeping up with the time, and the relative speed of the truck they're riding in, because he gave me an estimate of distance traveled – 110 to 120 miles," he added. "At least that narrows our search area."

Jack nodded. "See if you can locate any airports in your little circle there, Mac," Jack instructed. "If we can put down closer than Olympia we'll be ahead of the game," he added.

Mac nodded and studied the region. Unfortunately, it was the heart of the Cascade Mountains with Mt. Baker to the north and Mt. Ranier to the south. He shook his head, still looking for the airport markers. "Nothing."

"Okay, Olympia it is," Jack answered. "Unless. Look for a purple circle with an X in the center," he added.

Mac continued to study the map. "No, I don't see... Wait a minute," Mac said, just barely above a whisper. "Here's one. Its just east of Berne, Washington – not far from Stephen's Pass. What's it mean?"

"Abandoned air field," Jack answered. "What's the longitude and latitude?"

Mac read the longitude and latitude to Jack who typed it into his GPS. Jack radioed the nearest tower for information on airports at that GPS point. Listening to the controller through his head phones, he glanced at Mac and nodded, then signed off. "Its called Pasayten Airstrip. It's had quite a history, but was closed in 1968. Its got a thirty four hundred feet sod landing strip that was clear at least as late as 1998," Jack explained what he learned. "We can do a fly-over and see if its still usable, but what will we do for transportation if we can land there?" he asked Mac.

Mac flipped open his phone and called home. Beth answered. "Hey, how are holding up?" he asked her.

There was silence for a few seconds before she answered. "I'm scared."

Mac nodded. "I know you are. I am too, but I'm going to bring him home. I promise you," he told her. "Has there been a ransom demand, or any contact from the kidnappers?" he asked.

"No, not a word," her voice broke, and it broke his heart. "I don't know if I can deal with this," she added.

"Beth, you can. You have to. Harry needs us to be clear-headed and strong. So does Molly. Can you do that?" he quietly assured her.

"Yes," her voice was barely above a whisper.

"That's my girl," Mac encouraged her. "Is the FBI guy still there?" he asked.

"Yes, he says he's going to stay with us until they find Harry. The Amber Alert just came out on the TV," she added.

"Good, its a start. Look, Sam isn't going to come home, he's going to go to Olympia to meet us. I need you to do something for me. I need you to arrange a four wheel drive for us. Tell the rental agent we'll pay double to have it delivered to the location I'm going to give you. If they give you any trouble, no, wait a minute. I've got a better idea. Let me talk to Agent Donaldson," he added.

Agent Donaldson came on the line ranting a blue streak. Mac couldn't get a word in edgewise until he yelled, "CNN!"

"What?" the agent asked.

"CNN," Mac answered. "I don't usually resort to blackmail, but if that what it takes to get you to help me out, then I will. Did you happen to check out who my oldest son is?" There was a pause on the line. "Donaldson?" Mac asked again. He knew the first thing law enforcement did when a child went missing was to check out the family - in this case, families.

"I'm here. Yes, we did do a routine background check on Sam Malloy. What is your point, MacGyver?" the agent asked.

"My point is this, I need a four-wheel drive vehicle waiting for me at Pasayten Airfield. That's an abandoned airfield on Highway 2 just east of Berne," Mac answered, his finger on the map. "We're going to try to put down there. But, I need wheels when we arrive. Now, Sam is just a phone call away from me. He can put a_ good _spin for the FBI on this, or a _bad_ one, if you understand what I'm saying. What happens when CNN spills it all over the news that it took over two hours for the FBI to call in an Amber Alert for forty-nine children?"

"Mr. MacGyver, the FBI has nothing to hide in this situation," Donaldson answered.

"That's not the point. You know as well as I do that a good newscaster can slant the truth as far as he wants – and make people believe him. Now, if you researched Sam, then you know he's good. VERY GOOD," Mac added for emphasis. "Look Donaldson. All I want is a car – a four wheeler, with a full tank of gas and an extra storage tank of gas, just in case."

"Mr. MacGyver, I have no intention of aiding a civilian's intrusion into a police matter. You are a science teacher, Sir, not an FBI agent. You're only endangering yourself, and all of those kids, including Harry. I won't help you out," he answered.

"Then do this. Call Dick Cheney. You know, the ex-vice president? The ex-secretary of defense? Ask him what he thinks of me, then call me back."

"Sir, I can't call the ex-vice president of the United States," Donaldson protested.

"Maybe not, but you know who can. Look, what have you got to lose? Just call Cheney," Mac answered. "Before I call Sam," he added for emphasis.

**Chapter Six**

Nikki Carpenter braced herself as the truck bumped onto what felt like a washboard road. She felt the grade steepen, and she could hear the gears grind lower and lower as the big rig struggled up a steep incline. For the first time during the trip, she was glad she couldn't see the road. She imagined steep drop offs that struck the fear of God into her. After about forty five minutes, the road became a bucking bronco, lurching side to side as it struggled up the mountain. Suddenly, the air brakes belched and the truck came to a stop. The guard's radio squelched and he answered in a short staccato burst, then stood.

Nikki started to stand, as did some of the children, but the guard waved his automatic rifle and motioned for them to sit. The double doors of the truck bed opened, and Nikki shielded her eyes from the blinding bright flood light aimed into the truck interior. Two men, silhouetted by the light, climbed into the truck bed on either side of the guard. She recognized one of them, by his voice, as the man who held her captive while the children were loaded on the truck.

"I hope all y'all had a good trip. Now, in just a minute, we're gonna get you to the bathroom and your quarters. But we need to do this real orderly so no one gets hurt. Ms. Carpenter, you can help us out here. And, if you want to see these kids back to their parents, you'll do exactly like I say," he explained.

"What do you want with us?" Nikki asked as she shielded her eyes from the strong light. "By now, every law enforcement agent in the country is hunting for these kids. You can't get away with this."

"Every thing will become clear soon enough, lady," the speaker answered. "Your job is to get these kids to do what I say. If you can't do that, well then, you're just collateral damage. You get my drift?"

Nikki ground her teeth. The kids needed her alive. She nodded. "What do want me to do?"

"Get these kids organized. I want girls lined up on the left side of the truck, boys on the right," he answered.

Nikki stood, then turned to the children. Their faces reflected their fear. "Listen to me very carefully. We are going to do exactly what these men tell us to do – without question. Do you understand?" The children nodded. "Okay, very slowly, girls move to this side," she motioned. "And boys to the other," she finished. "Do it now."

When the children were in position, she turned back to the guard. "Now what?"

"There's an outhouse right outside, a double-holer. The girls come first, in single file. When they're done, and they're in their quarters for the night, then the boys can get out," he explained. "Jess here, you kids remember Jess? He's the one that's a little heavy handed with that AK57. Jess will show you where to go. You," he pointed at Nikki, "are the last one off the truck. If there is any funny business, any funny business at all, someone else is gonna die. You all got that?" He paused and studied his charges. Then he nodded. "Okay, one at a time, you girls can start to unload. Just follow Jess."

Nikki watched helplessly as the girls climbed down from the tall truck bed into the flood lights, directed by the armed guards. It took fifteen minutes before the boys were allowed to unload. Finally, Nikki stood alone, except for her guard, in the truck. Another quarter of an hour passed before the guard motioned for Nikki to climb down. She found herself on the grounds of what appeared to be an abandoned mill of some kind with hulking concrete buildings, complete with silos and falling down conveyors. Her guard grabbed her arm and dragged her to a small ramshackle corrugated metal building. It's door hung open on its hinges.

"If you gotta go, now's the time," he told her as he propelled her to the small building. Looking inside, she found a rotting outhouse. She grabbed the tilting door in an effort to close it, but the guard grabbed her wrist.

"The door stays open," he explained.

Nikki shot an icy glare at him, but she really needed to go, so she nodded, then relieved herself. At least the guard turned sideways until she finished. He grabbed her by the arm as she came out, then propelled her toward the larger crumbling building. It was, she guessed the main building in the mill. The guard shoved Nikki through double doors into the building's cavernous interior, illuminated by gas fired Coleman lanterns. Rows of sleeping pallets were lined in a double row along one side of the building. In the center of the building, stood a long row of picnic tables, lined end to end. A makeshift, gas fired camp kitchen sat to the left beside a small office which jutted out from the corner. The children were lined up along the back wall of the building under the careful watch of the guard named Jess as well as two others she recognized from the 'bus jacking'. Scanning the room, Nikki counted six guards in all, all heavily armed.

The office door opened and three men came out. Two were of middle eastern appearance, the third was Caucasian. The Caucasian wore tailored khakis and a blue silk dress shirt, under a brown bomber coat. A bandana tied around his neck completed his outfit. He was pushing sixty, she guessed, just slightly older than she. His hair was gray and cut stylishly in a brushed back fashion. He was thin and fit, and his face was unblemished. He smiled broadly at her as he strolled toward her. That grin sent shivers of fear all of the way to her toes.

"Well, well, well, Nikki. Its so nice to see you again after all these years. You are looking fit," he greeted her. His manner was casual and cordial. He grabbed the lapels of the brown bomber jacket, held them out, then spun around. "You like my new look? I call it MacGyver style," he asked her.

Nikki sneered then spat out, "Murdoc."

Murdoc grinned at her again. "I'm flattered that you recognize me. You know, it took quite some time, and a fair amount of money to have my face reconstructed, yet again. But my plastic surgeon did a wonderful job, don't you think? Not too pinched?"

Nikki closed her eyes and looked away from the man. So many years had passed since any one heard from the former assassin, he was assumed dead.

He grabbed her chin and turned her face toward him. "You could use a plastic surgeon yourself, my dear. The years are showing."

She shook her head free from his cold fingers. "What do you want with these children, Murdoc? They have nothing to do with you."

Murdoc chuckled. "You're right, Nikki. They don't have any thing to do with me – _except_ for the money they're bringing me." He nodded to the two middle eastern men who flanked him. "Come, walk with me, my dear," he told her as he took her arm. He led her to the teenagers. Two guards flanked them as they walked. The middle eastern men walked behind. "You see, Nikki, when _you _look at them," he waved toward the teens. "You see children. I, on the other hand, see dollar signs. One third of the best and brightest that America has to offer."

He snapped his fingers. One of the middle eastern men handed him a notebook. Murdoc showed Nikki the first page. The page featured a picture, along with a biography of one of the children. Murdoc led Nikki to the living child featured on the page. "Daniel Lee, sixteen years old, Washington, D.C. Developed a missile guidance system for his toy rockets that is currently being field tested by the US government to control unmanned submarines." He led her to another child, then scanned through the book. "Magenta Miles. New York City. Her symphony in D minor for the piano will be the feature piece for the Philadelphia Philharmonic during the Fourth of July picnic that will be broadcast over national television."

He led her down the line reading biographies of selected children. Nikki held her breath as they approached Harry MacGyver. Murdoc stopped her in front of MacGyver's son, then studied the boy. Suddenly, Murdoc screamed. "**What are these chains doing on his pants!** **Get them off**!" His face turned beet red and he frantically waved his hands. "I told you people that these children were NOT to have any thing on them that they could use as weapons!" Murdoc paced in a tight circle,and muttered under his breath. One of the guards approached Harry and, with a pocket knife, roughly cut off the decorative looped chains hanging from several places on the boy's over sized black cargos. When the guard was finished, Murdoc took a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. He looked at Nikki. "Forgive me," he said calmly as he readjusted his jacket. Skipping over Harry's biography, Murdoc highlighted the talents of a few more children. Then he instructed the guards to get the children something to drink and bed them down for the night.

He led Nikki back toward the center of the room. As they walked, he explained. "These children are worth enough money to fund Al-Queida's next big mision. And, my cut is astronomical. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a ransom message to send." He nodded at one of the guards and strolled away.

The guard grabbed Nikki's arm in a vice-like grip and led her back to the line of children.

**Chapter Seven**

"How much longer before we reach Paysaten Airfield?" Mac asked Jack as he unplugged his cell from Jack's auxiliary power port.

Jack Dalton checked his instruments before he answered. "About two hours according to the GPS. Now Mac, you know we may not be able to put down there, remember?" Jack added. "We haven't heard back from your FBI pal."

Rain drops splattered his window as Mac studied the rugged terrain below. It was six thirty in the morning, by his watch, five thirty in the morning by Washington State time, but the sun stayed hidden beneath the overcast sky. Harry had been missing for at least eight hours, maybe up to nine hours, depending on exactly when the bus was hijacked. There had been no further contact from Harry.

Mac and Jack lost some time in Billings, Montana while they refueled and grabbed a bite to eat. The greasy breakfast sat heavily on his stomach. Then, the unwanted thought that his son was no longer alive crossed Mac's mind, and made him sick to his stomach. He looked for something in which to vomit. Jack pulled an airsick bag from the small storage compartment between them and handed it to Mac.

"Got you covered pal," Jack said quietly.

Mac retched into the bag, closed and sealed it, then tilted his head between his legs to quell his dizziness. Harry has to be alive, he tried to convince himself. He took a deep breath, blew it out, then sat up and checked his messages again – nothing from Harry.

Earlier, at two in the morning, CST, the ransom call came into the FBI, according to an earlier call from his wife. The kidnappers demanded one and one half million dollars for the return of each child for a total of seventy two million dollars, plus another million for Nikki. The message, sent on a pay-as-you-go cell, stated that, starting at noon tomorrow, Pacific time, one child would be killed for every hour that the ransom was not paid. It was to be deposited directly into an overseas account in the middle east.

Mac palmed his phone, but startled as it rang in his hand. He answered, "MacGyver."

"Mr. MacGyver, Agent Donaldson."

"Donaldson, did you reach Cheney, yet?" Or is it time for me to call Sam?" Mac asked.

"Uh, yes, Sir," Donaldson answered. "We have been instructed to give you our full cooperation. Paysaten has already been cleared for your approach by the Forestry Service. An off-road ready Jeep Cherokee is waiting, along with topographic maps of the area, food, and extra fuel," the FBI agent answered. "Agents will meet you at Paysaten to fill you in on the latest developments, and coordinate your movements. We've also got an agent waiting for your son, Sam, at Sea-Tac," Donaldson told him. Mac smiled. While he was still with the DSX, Dick Cheney was Secretary of Defense. Mac had worked more than a few missions, including one concerning the recovery of a map, under Cheney's orders. He'd found the former Vice-President to be charming and quiet spoken, with an iron clad will. When Dick Cheney spoke, people listened – even the FBI.

"Any news on the search?" he asked the agent.  
"Nothing yet, Sir," Donaldson answer. "We have FBI, police, state troopers and the forestry service patrolling the Cascades, by car, in the air, and on foot, but no sign of any thing, yet. Where ever they've gone to ground, they're deep," he added.

**Chapter Eight**

Harry smelled bacon frying. He smiled. Mom was in the kitchen fixing breakfast. He grabbed his pillow and snuggled deeper into bed. But, his pillow didn't feel right, then he heard men's voices – strange voices. He winced when he remembered where he was – on a meager pallet on the concrete floor of some abandoned factory – kidnapped. He peeked open his eyes without moving, and took in what was in his field of vision. Armed men stood around a camp kitchen drinking from mugs, while another man cooked. They weren't paying any attention to him. The other kids in his line of sight were still asleep. He buried himself down into the covers and slipped his cell from inside the pillow case where he stowed it when he went to bed. He'd tried it last night, but got no signal. He hoped, well, at least sort of anyway, that some trick of nature might have increased the signal with a new day. It didn't. He turned it off and slipped it back into the pillow case beneath the pillow.

He heard a movement to his right and turned over. Magenta lay on her pallet beside him. During the night, she'd moved it close enough to touch his. Her beautiful face was only inches from his. He looked into her emerald green eyes and smiled. He was close enough to kiss her. He'd never kissed a girl before, really kissed one that is – you couldn't count Emily Majors when they were in kindergarten. He chewed his lip, indecision freezing him in place.

"Anything?" she whispered to him.

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm going to have to boost the signal somehow," he whispered back.

Magenta glanced at the guards, then looked back at Harry. "How? They're watching us almost every minute."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll think of something. I have to let my dad and brother know where we are."

She shook her head. "It's too dangerous. They'll kill you."

Harry chewed his lip again. He suspected the men would kill him even if they didn't catch him – kill all of them. They'd made no attempt to conceal their identities or their names. It wasn't a good sign. But as he looked into Magenta's frightened eyes, he knew he couldn't tell her what he feared. He turned back to study his kidnappers.

The older man who appeared to be in charge, the one in the bomber coat like his dad's old, ratty one, came out of the office. He got a cup of what Harry guessed, by the smell, was coffee, then strolled down the length of the building. The man studied the kids as he walked.

Once more the old man man stopped in front of Harry's mat and just stood there staring at him. It made Harry feel weird. This was the third time the man had done that since they'd arrived . It scared Harry half to death. It was if the man looked right through him – like he suspected Harry's hidden cell phone.

The man nudged Harry's foot. "Get up," he commanded Harry in a tight voice. Then, to Harry's relief, he turned away from Harry. "All of you, get up. It's time for exercise and breakfast!" the man yelled. Harry noticed the man's frighteningly perfect grin as he strolled down the line of kids. "You wanted summer camp, you got it! Lot's of activities planned for you!" Then the man broke out into a stupid camp song about some camp called Grenada. Harry grabbed his high tops and slipped them on, then looked for, and found, a moment to grab his cell. Under the cover of the rough blanket, he slipped the phone back into his shoe.

Around him, the rest of the kids rearranged their clothing and stood. He helped Magenta to her feet, then scanned the room for Mrs. Carpenter. She was across the room. She looked like hell. Dried blood smeared her face, and her hair was all messed up. Her wrists were handcuffed together. She must have felt his gaze, because she looked straight at him. Then, she looked down at her hands and shook her head. Harry felt really bad for her. She was an old friend of his dad's, and too old to have to be going through all of this.

The kids were directed to the kitchen area where they were served bacon and scrambled eggs on paper plates, with orange Kool-Aid in Dixie cups, then sent to the picnic tables to eat. Mrs. Carpenter was released and allowed to eat with the kids. She took an empty seat next to Harry and Magenta. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry." she whispered. Her voice broke, and she dropped her head. A tear slid down her cheek.

"No talking!" one of guards shouted at her. He grabbed Mrs. Carpenter's hair and jerked her head back. "Especially from you, old woman," he yelled at her.

"Hey!" Harry yelled at the guard. He jumped to his feet. "Leave her alone. She didn't do anything to you!" He gave the guard a backward shove.

The guard jerked back his hand, then raised it to back hand Harry. As Harry braced himself for the blow, a hand grabbed the guard's wrist. 'Bomber-coat dude' stood behind the guard. He held the man's wrist in a grip so tight Harry could see the veins popping up on the old man's hand. "Don't you lay a hand on that boy," the old man hissed at the guard. "Not now, not ever. Not unless you have a death wish. Do you understand me?" he added as the old man flicked a switch blade against the guard's throat with his free hand.

Harry held his breath until the guard slowly nodded. 'Bomber-coat dude' released the guard, then turned to Harry. He smiled at Harry as he flipped the switch blade closed, then slipped it back into his pocket. His smile, like some lecherous old cock-sucker, made Harry feel really creepy. The old man patted Harry on the back. "Despite those Goth clothes, Harry, you're a good kid. Shame your dad doesn't recognize that," he cooed. "Finish your breakfast," he added, then with a look at Mrs. Carpenter, the old man strolled away.

Harry looked at Mrs. Carpenter, his eyes narrowed. What did the old man know about his father, he wanted to ask, but fear kept him quiet. Mrs. Carpenter shook her head and mouthed, "Not now."

**Chapter Nine**

Mac studied the old airstrip below them as Jack made a slow circle, then started his approach. The Forestry Service had indeed bush hogged the airstrip, but Mac didn't like its looks. Not only was the airstrip not paved, but it was short – really short. He grabbed his seat with both hands and held on for dear life as Jack nosed the small plane down, quiet for once.

The landing was a frightening battle between tree stumps and rubble. Mac held on for dear life. As the plane bumped along the strip, Mac noticed a dark green, unmarked Cherokee with two fuel containers strapped onto a cargo bed attached to the tailgate. There was also a Forestry Service truck, and a black Crown Vic. Sam leaned on the driver side of the Jeep, his arms folded. Mac jumped out of the small plane as soon as it slowed to a crawl. He jogged to Sam who grabbed him a bear hug.

Sam smiled. "I don't know how you did it, but the FBI caught up with me at Sea-Tac before I boarded the commuter flight to Olympia. They brought me here by helicopter," he explained. "What took you so long?"

"Fuel stop," Mac answered as he loosened his grip on his oldest son. Two suited men, and a petite blond woman in a Forest Service uniform approached. The woman carried a large rolled up sheet of paper. Mac turned to face them.

One of the suited men extended his hand. "MacGyver. I'm Agent Thomas of the FBI." He indicated to his partner. "This is Agent Fox." He pointed to the Forest Service employee, "And USFS Law Enforcement Officer, Dana Addison." They shook hands all around.

"Sir," Agent Thomas continued. "The State Department has every confidence in your ability to assist us in the search for the missing children. As such, we have been instructed to support you in any way possible. As you requested, a vehicle has been serviced and is ready for travel. Inside you will find standard military rations, fresh water, and some basic survival gear. We also have several weapons available from which you may choose," Thomas told Mac.

Jack sauntered up and Mac introduced him. "We don't need weapons," Mac told the agents, but I appreciate the food and water. Can you give me some idea of the search zone so that we don't do a re-do of what you've already done?"

"Yes, Sir. I can do that," Officer Addison stepped forward. She unrolled the tube to reveal a detailed topo map of the Cascade Mountains, which she spread out on the hood of the Jeep. "Because we are more familiar with the countryside than civilian law enforcement, the Forest Service is coordinating the search," she explained. "From the information we gleamed from your son's texts, we believe the children can't be further away than this area." With her finger, Addison circled a region that pretty closely corresponded to what Mac calculated earlier. "Because Harry repeated several times that they traveled for over two hours on a 'curvy' mountain road, we don't believe the truck went to Spokane, or to the metropolitan areas around Seattle. This means the truck went either north toward Mt. Baker, or south toward Ranier."

She looked up at Mac, then turned back to the map. He moved in closer to look over her shoulder. "As you can see, there are several roads that head north for any distance. Most of these are forest service roads and are very familiar to us. We have personnel patrolling every inch of these roads, but nothing has turned up so far. To the south, there are fewer roads leaving Highway 2. These are being patrolled by primarily by state troopers as well as FBI and military personnel." She looked up at Mac. "The problem is, Sir, that outside of these main roads, there are thousands of old, and new, logging roads north and south of Highway 2. While we do have air support assisting in the search, most of these logging roads are so overgrown they can't be seen from the air. Also, most of the roads off of this highway peter out into high country before Harry's time frame is reached, if his time frame can be trusted."

Sam chuckled. "It can be trusted, believe me, Harry knows distance like Bo knows baseball. It's sort of his 'thing'."

Mac shook his head and turned to look out across the airfield. He did a slow turn, taking in the towering mountains that surrounded them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, then looked beside him into Sam's eyes. He shook his head again. "I don't know which way to go."

"Which way would you go if you wanted to get lost?" Sam asked him gently.

Mac pushed his indecision to the back of his mind, and leaned back over the map. "I'd try to be inconspicuous until I got far away from the bus. Then I'd head for one of logging roads." He traced Highway 2 with his finger, then looked up at the FBI agent. "Exactly where did you find the bus?"

Agent Thomas drew an X on the map with a pen. "Here, almost directly midpoint between the towns of Skyhomish and Berne."

Mac pulled Harry's messages from his pocket again and studied them. Then he checked the map legend for the distance gauge. "How fast can a tractor trailer travel these roads?" he asked.

Addison answered. "On a flat open run, which are few and far between, I'd say, maybe fifty, fifty-five at the max. Most of the time, the switchbacks keep the speed below forty-five. Then the steep grades tend to slow them down as well."

Mac nodded, then pointed on the map to highway 97. "This highway is a major route?" he asked the ranger.

"Yes sir. Most sections are even four lane," she answered.

"So a lot of tractor trailers take it?" he asked.

Addison nodded. "That's the major shipping corridor between east and west Washington. Highway 2, where we are on now, is mainly a scenic route used by tourists and adventure recreation enthusiasts."

Mac looked at Sam. "If I were driving a big rig, and didn't want to be noticed, I'd go where other big rigs go."

Sam nodded. "Become a needle in a haystack."

"Show me two and a half hours on this road, Highway 97," he said to the ranger.

Addison studied the map for a long time before she answered. "It takes me two hours to get to Ginko State Park over here," she pointed. "And two and a half to get to Yakima. If you divert onto Highway 90 at this point, its two hours to Snoqualmie Pass, here." She studied the map longer. "Harry's last message said they turned left onto a 'rough paved road'. But you can't make a left turn off of 90 any where near Ginko, especially not with a semi-rig. It's all runoff streams into the Wenatchee River. And, you can't turn left any where before Yakima, because of the military firing range." She looked back up at Mac. "That leaves Snoqualmie Pass."

"Then what happens?" Mac asked.

"There are several left turns that take you into a tangled mess of logging roads leading up to Mt. Ranier," she answered. "And that's all. Virtually no towns, the terrain is too rugged."

Mac grabbed her and kissed her on the forehead.

**Chapter Ten**

The kids, under heavy guard, huddled against the wall and talked in quiet voices. A video camera, perched on a tripod, sat before a chair. Large gas powered lights illuminated the chair from both sides. Each child was individually sat in front of the camera and were told to state their name, age, hometown, and their parents names. During the filming, a guard escorted the kids, one at at time, to the outhouse.

While he waited his turn for filming, and for much needed time in the outhouse, Harry searched his clothes. There had to be something on him that could be used to make an antenna to boost his cell phone reception. If he could somehow link the steel supports of the building to his cell, he might be able to boost the signal enough to get off a text. But _how_, was the big question? They'd taken the chains from his pants, but not his ear rings. They was silver, he mused - good conductors. He needed something that enough distance between the cell and the metal supports to hide the cell while he texted. He looked at Magenta. She wore ear rings as well, but they were just studs, even smaller than the silver hoop he wore on one ear lobe. Her necklace was hemp rope, with a plastic guitar pick hanging from it. No help there. She wore a hemp bracelet studded with glass beads.

Finally, the guard escorted Harry outside where they were joined by another guard waiting near the john. As Harry walked into the rotting, reeking building, he noticed wires hanging from an a hole in the outhouse ceiling where an overhead light fixture must have hung at some point. He turned and looked at the guards who watched him as he unbuttoned his pants. "Hey, do you mind?" he spat at them.

One of the guards laughed at him. "You ain't got nothing we've never seen before, kid," he told Harry.

"Maybe not, but I can't take a proper dump with you watching me. Or would you rather me do my business inside there?" Harry spat back as he cocked his head toward the main building.

The other guard chuckled. "It don't matter. He's Murdoc's problem. I need a smoke anyway," he told his partner. They stepped a few feet away and fumbled with cigarettes and a lighter, their backs to him.

Harry didn't waste any time. He climbed on the seat and grabbed the wire, then jerked it hard. About a foot of wire broke free. Harry jumped down, shoved the wire in his pocket, then relieved himself.

He was escorted back to his place along the wall in the main building. He slid in next to Magenta. When the guards were far enough away from him, he slipped the wire from his pocket. With his finger nail, he scrapped off about an inch of the wire insulation on each end, exposing the copper underneath. With a quick glance up to check the guards, he removed one of his earrings. Luckily, it was silver which conducted electricity even better than copper. He wrapped the loop with the exposed copper wiring, being careful to keep the post free of wire. Then he scooted back against one of the metal supports that lined the concrete wall. Another check with the guards showed no one was paying him any attention.

He glanced at Magenta. She chewed her lip, then shook her head. She mouthed, "No."

Harry looked around again, then curled into an "Indian-style" position with his feet folded under his legs. After a quick glance at the guards, he removed the cell from his shoe. He pried off the small rubber stopper that covered the antenna port on the phone, then stabbed the post of his earring into the port. He turned sideways and laid the phone between himself and the wall. He touched the exposed other end of the wire to the steel support, then popped open the phone. He had signal! It was an extremely weak signal, but he hoped it was enough. There was a message from his dad, but he didn't have time to read it. He typed, glancing up after every other letter.

He noticed Mrs. Carpenter looking at him, then she quickly looked away and stood. "I have to go to the bathroom", she announced in a loud voice. "I have to go to the bathroom, NOW." All of the guards, even 'bomber-coat dude' turned to look at her. Thankful of the distraction, Harry finished his text, closed and turned off his phone, then detached the makeshift antenna. He hid everything, then slid forward beside Magenta again. He looked back at Mrs. Carpenter, now being led out of the building, and shook his head. It was as if she knew what he was doing and created a diversion on purpose.

He waited for his turn in front of the camera, but it never came. Every other kid had been filmed, except him, when 'bomber-coat dude' directed them to lunch. While they ate, the guards packed up the camera and the lights.

Magenta leaned close and whispered. "They'd filmed every other kid, but you," she whispered in his ear. "Why, Harry?" Harry shrugged his shoulders. He wondered why, too. He looked over at Mrs. Carpenter, several feet away from him at the picnic table, and pointed at his chest, then shook his head, his eyes narrowed.

She shook her head, and mouthed a 'sshhh'.

**Chapter Eleven**

Mac's phone chimed. After a quick glance in the rear view mirror, he steered the Jeep to the shoulder of the narrow road they traveled and stopped. He glanced at Sam who fumbled in his pocket for his ringing phone. Both men opened their cells to see a message alert. Mac looked skyward and mouthed a quick thanks. The message was from Harry. It was short, and abbreviated. "2.9h, lft, 2m, rgt, 1h, lft, 30m, drt rd." Mac looked at Sam as his son read his own copy of Harry's message, then said, "Jack, hand me the map." Map in hand, he climbed out of the Jeep and spread the map on the Jeep's hood.

On the map, Sam pointed to the intersection where they'd left Highway 90 near Snoqualmie Pass. "Two minutes then a right turn jives with what we did when we left the highway," he said.

Mac nodded. "Its the only road that goes for any distance." He glanced at his watch. "We've been on this road for forty-five minutes. If this was their route, and if we are matching the speeds we suspected they maintained, then we should be coming up on the turn in just a few minutes. Is he saying its a dirt road?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure," he answered. "And, is he alluding to minutes, miles or meters?"

Mac answered. "Minutes I think, since he used 'hours' before." He folded the map, then handed it into the car window to Jack, then got back into the driver's seat.

Jack took the map. "Where to now? Harry give any more clues?" he asked.

"The most important clue of all, Jack," Mac answered as he threw the Jeep into gear. "He's alive." Mac gunned the engine while Sam answered Harry's text.

Fifteen minutes down the road, they came to a side road that veered into the mountains to the left. He stopped the Jeep and they studied the turn for a minute before he glanced at Sam, then made the turn. "The roads pretty narrow," Mac stated. "Look for any signs that a big rig came through here." They traveled up the road for about ten minutes before it turned to dirt. No tire tracks, of any kind, were visible, despite the light rain. Mac backed the Jeep back down the road and onto the paved road. They tried three more left turns, with equally bad luck.

The fourth turn, their luck changed. Jack was the one who saw it. "Whoa, Mac, back up minute," he called out, about five minutes up the narrow, winding road. Mac backed up and Jack jumped out. He pointed to the side of the road. "Something big didn't make this curve too well," he told Mac.

Mac got out of the car and looked down at the skid marks on the dirt shoulder. He bent low, and touched the impression of double tires, then looked up at his old friend. "Good catch."

He reached into the console for his cell and popped it open. It was time to call the FBI. He scanned his 'contacts', hit the button, and dropped the call. He tried again, the call dropped again. He looked at Sam. "No signal," he said as a knot formed in his stomach.

Sam grabbed his Blackberry. Then shook his head. "Me either."

Jack pulled out his phone and studied it. "Not even half a bar, buddy," he answered Mac's look.

Mac studied the terrain. "The mountains block any signal, and there's probably not enough people living in the area to warrant booster towers," he explained. He found himself faced with a new decision. Go back and look for a signal, or go forward and look for Harry. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looked up the road, then back down. Go on? Or go back?

He looked at Sam, then at Jack. "Let's go on, see what we find."

Farther up the road, the rate of ascent increased and, as a result, more skid marks appeared. They passed two dirt roads, with no sign that any vehicle had been on them in a long time. Twenty minutes up the road, Sam shouted. "There! To the the left. See it?"

Mac nodded. A narrow dirt road branched off at a forty five degree angle from the narrow poc-marked road they currently traveled. Deep double-tire treads marked the passing of a tractor trailer truck. A heavy, new gate, padlocked, barred access to the dirt road. Mac braked, then slipped the car into neutral and allowed the car to slowly back down the way they had come. When he found a place he could turn around, he did. Then he followed the road back to a side dirt road lower down the hill. He pulled up the dirt road about one hundred yards, until it petered out at what looked like an old hunting camp with a fire ring and room for tents. Rusted beer cans partially filled the ring and lay scattered about the site, along with an old tire and a busted Tupperware pitcher. He parked, then turned around and looked at Jack, then Sam. "Its too easy," he told them. "Did either of you see a guard, because I sure didn't."

Sam and Jack both shook their heads.

"There should be a guard, probably more than one," Mac added.

"You think its a decoy, don't you?" Jack asked.

"Maybe," nodded Mac. He popped open his cell and checked for a signal again, but got nothing. "I have the same carrier as Harry. If I can't get a signal..." Mac let his voice trail off.

"Then we've been suckered," finished Sam.

Mac got out of the Jeep and walked around the old camp site, hoping for inspiration. Sam and Jack got out to stretch their legs.

"If we were suckered," Mac finally said to no one in particular, "then why with _Harry's_ phone?" He looked at Sam. "Why wasn't it some other kid's phone? And why wasn't it just called into the FBI like the ransom call, not to every member of _my _family and _only_ my family?" He kicked one of the beers cans. It rattled across rocks and came to rest against the fire ring. He pulled the now ratty paper with Harry's messages written on it out of his pocket again and re-read all of the messages, then handed the paper to Sam. "Look at them, there's almost nothing personal in any of them."

"You know, Mac. Here's a thought," Jack added. "Maybe they're just stupid." He grinned.

Mac shook his head and grinned back at Jack. "Maybe they are, Jack." He looked at Sam. "See if you can find a place where we can hide the car. Jack, let's you and me unload those backpacks. If I don't check out that what's up that road, and I don't get... if Harry..." he shook his head unable to articulate his fear. "I'll never forgive myself."

**Chapter Twelve**

Harry finished his lunch of boloney sandwiches, chips and Kool-Aid , then carried his paper plate and cup to the trash. 'Bomber-coat dude' stood near the trash can. The man laid his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry jerked himself free while he gave the old dude his best, 'eat shit and die' look, then started to walk off, but the man grabbed his arm.

"Harry", 'bomber-coat dude' said. "I'd like to talk with you for a minute, if you don't mind," he told him. Harry's cell phone and the makeshift antenna suddenly felt very heavy, secreted within his clothing.

Harry tried to pull his arm free. "Dude, I mind, really."

'Bomber-coat dude' laughed, but he didn't let go of Harry's arm. "Come over here," he directed the boy. He pulled him into the office. Harry glanced back at the other kids. Some of them watched him with curious faces. 'Bomber-coat dude' closed the office door behind them and told Harry to sit.

Harry sneered. "I'll just stand," he answered.

'Bomber-coat dude' laughed again, then sat on the edge of the desk. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that you got caught up in all of this," he told Harry.

"Yah, right," Harry sneered back.

The old man grinned. "You know, Harry. I know your father."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You don't know _jack_," Harry spat back.

"Ah, but I do know Jack as well," the old man answered. "Jack Dalton, one of your father's best friends."

Harry stood more erect. Jack Dalton was not what he meant when he told 'bomber-coat dude' he didn't know jack – he meant jack-shit, but the mention of his neighbor surprised him.

The old dude laughed again. Harry was getting real tired of the man's laugh.

"My name is Murdoc," the old man told him. "Has your father ever mentioned me to you?"

Harry shook his head. He couldn't figure out, for the life of him, how his dad knew a kidnapper. Dad was just a science teacher for Pete's sake.

"I'm not surprised," old dude answered. "You see, Harry, your father has led a double life. He is an assassin, Harry, and a for profit terrorist, just like me. We work together, Harry."

Harry cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "No, you're just lying. I don't know why, but you're lying."

"Why would I lie, Harry? What possible reason would I have to lie?" Murdoc stood and walked to the desk where he picked up a file. He leafed through it until he found what he wanted, then handed a paper to Harry. "A picture is worth a thousand words, Harry."

Harry looked down at the paper in his hands. It was a picture of his father, at a much younger age. He appeared to be breaking into a nuclear power plant. Murdoc handed him another picture. In this one, his father was scaling a fence into some kind of underground US military facility. Another picture showed his dad building what Harry recognized was a bomb. Harry threw the pictures on the floor. "Those are fakes."

Murdoc picked up the pictures and handed them back to Harry. "I assure you, these pictures are real. I took them myself. You see, I was with him on these missions. You know computers, Harry. Look at those pictures again. They are not fakes."

Harry looked at the pictures again. He studied them for signs that the images were digitally altered, and found none. Slowly, he shook his head. "My dad is a good man. He wouldn't do this. He just teaches school. He's a... he's a nobody," Harry answered, barely above a whisper.

Murdoc handed Harry one more picture. This one featured his dad and Murdoc together, talking. They were both smiling.

"He's been in hiding, Harry. Hiding from your government," Murdoc answered. "And I assure you, he's not a nobody."

Harry turned to face away from the man. The pictures dropped from his fingers. He shook his head again. "Every body loves dad. They think he's... he's perfect."

"On that, I will agree with you, son," Murdoc answered gently. "That was the secret to his success. His boyish grin, his seemingly non-violent ways. It was how he got close to his targets. Harry, why do you think _your _bus was the one taken, not one of the others?" Murdoc rested his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged himself free.

"Why have I gone out of my way to protect you, Harry? And why were you not filmed for the ransom video?" Murdoc cooed. "It's because your father is in on this kidnapping, that's why. He's working with the PLO. He planned all of this - with me. After we get the money, you, and your father, and I are supposed to go to Palestine with them. He wants to train you, Harry. Train you to work with us. MacGyver is getting on in years. He wants to create a legacy – you."

Harry violently shook his head. "NO!" He spun around. "My Dad wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave my Mom, or Molly, or Sam," his voice trailed to a whisper. "Or Maggie, or Katie. He loves us," he added weakly.

"He's sick of the boredom of Minnesota, Harry, just like you are. He's sick of his life. MacGyver wants to reclaim some excitement before he dies, Harry. And as far as your family is concerned, well, he loves _you_, Harry. Molly isn't even his child – and Sam, well, Sam is an _accident_. You're his true flesh and blood, his legacy. Don't you remember how much time he spent teaching you about electronics, Harry – from the time you could walk? He's already been training you, you just didn't know it," Murdoc answered. He stepped closer to Harry. "How did you know that was a bomb in that picture, Harry? You're father taught you how to make one didn't he?" Murdoc whispered. "That's why you got in trouble at school. You showed other kids how to make one, didn't you?"

Harry shook his head again, "It was just a firecracker," he whispered.

"It wasn't the fact that you posted directions on how to make a firecracker on the INTERNET that made him so mad, Harry. It was the fact that the school found out. It called attention to _him_, Harry."

Murdoc continued. "He was afraid the CIA would discover where he was hiding - what his assumed name is now. You know, Harry, your name is really O'Neill, Harry O'Neill."

Harry shook his head again.

"That's why he planned the kidnapping. He knows that your government suspects his where-abouts. He has to leave the country before he is caught. And, he needs money to do that, Harry. BIG money," Murdoc explained.

"Its a lie," Harry protested.

Murdoc waved his hand. "Believe what you want, Harry, but what I am telling you is the truth. You can go now, if you want." Harry headed for the door, but Murdoc added, "But I can help you, if you wish."

His hand on the door knob, Harry looked back at Murdoc.

Murdoc stoked Harry's hair, then added. "I can get you away from your father, Harry. Far away."

"Why? Why would you do that? You kidnapped us," Harry spat back.

"Because I don't want _you_ to live the life _I've_ had to live, Harry." Murdoc paced back to the desk. "All my life, I regretted the choices that I made, son. Now I'm an old man, I have no more chances. Except one - seeing that you live the life you want to live, not the one your father has planned for you. I can get you out of here, Harry." Murdoc shook his head. "I can't take you home, your father would find you there, but I can help you start a new life – free from your father's insidious plans. We can go to Venezuela, or Ireland, where ever you want to go," he finished. "Think about what I've said. And think about this, how much of your father's life, before you were born, has he told you about? When you do, you will know that I am telling you the truth. You can go now." Murdoc smiled as Harry bolted from the office.

Harry needed to throw up, so he headed directly for the trash can. He supported himself with his hands as he retched into the stinking can, aware of everyone watching him. Magenta came to his side. "Harry, are you okay? What did that man want?" she asked. Harry shook his head, then bolted for the Kool-aid to wash out his mouth. Magenta trailed behind him.

He looked down at Magenta. "It's all my fault," he thought. "It's my fault she's here." He shook his head and walked away from her. He sat down on his bed roll and curled his arms around his knees, then rested his head on his arms. He pulled up an image of his father – laughing, teasing, making things out of nothing. Harry shook his head. Murdoc was lying. He knew it! Then he tried to remember what his father did for a living before he moved to Minnesota. "I just used to travel around and fix things," was all his father ever said. Harry sighed and shook his head again. "I won't believe it," he muttered. "I won't believe it because it isn't true."

Murdoc watched the boy from the office and smiled. He grinned at Nikki Carpenter, staring at him from across the room, then turned back to his desk. "There are more ways to kill MacGyver than with a gun," he muttered with glee.

**Chapter Thirteen **

They decided to take only one backpack between the three of them. Sam packed it with MREs, water, and the vehicle First Aid kit. Mac and Jack dumped the water from several bottles of Evian that the FBI provided, and filled them with some of the spare gasoline, then shoved them into Mac's day pack, now empty of clothing and personal effects. Mac also grabbed the Jeep's tire iron and lashed it to the tent sling on Sam's backpack – just in case. Jack, not to be out done, shoved the emergency flare gun in his belt. Sam, swung the backpack over his shoulders and cinched the belt strap.

Mac spread the map out on the ground and took a bearing using the compass on his watch, then marked their current position. Satisfied that he knew where they were, and where they were heading, he pointed into the trees. "That way," he said. He plunged into the dense foliage of the rain forest, heading northwest.

Within thirty minutes, they reached a dirt road that Mac believed was the gated road. But, there were no tire tracks. Sam stepped up beside his father. "How far above the gate do you think you are?" he asked his father.

Mac held his finger to his lips. He whispered back, "I'm not sure. You and Jack wait back in the tree line. I'm going to find the gate and see where the tracks stop." Sam nodded and, with a wave at Jack, faded back into the forest.

Mac paralleled the road, keeping just within the tree line. About fifty yards east, he found the tire tracks embedded in the road mud. Twenty yards beyond stood the gate. He slipped across the road and into the forest on the other side, and approached the paved road, then paralleled it, still staying hidden within the dense foliage. The road continued into the mountains for about a mile, getting smaller and more worn out as it went, until it finally turned into a dirt road. A few minutes later the pavement ended. The road continued up the hill however, but only as a rough mud track. Tractor trailer tires were visible in the dirt.

Just beyond an especially steep section, complicated by hairpin turns, the road was barricaded by a Forest Service 'Road Closed No admittance' barricade. Mac heard a cough, and smelled cigarette smoke. Slinking lower, he crawled on his hands and knees toward the barricade. Someone coughed again, and Mac flattened himself on the ground, then peered around a fern. He saw two Forest Service employees, both carrying semi-automatic weapons, guarding the road just north of the barricade. One smoked, while the other sat on a rock and read a paperback novel. Their truck, green with the Forest Service logo on the side and a wench on the front, sat just inside the barricade. Tire tracks in the dirt showed that a tractor trailer truck had gone past the barricade and up the mountain.

Mac's brow wrinkled. He knew several people over the years who worked for the Forestry Service, none ever carried automatic rifles, at least not during regular duty. In addition, while these men did carry sidearms, the weapons weren't standard issue for the Forestry Service. He slithered back the way he came until he was hidden within the deep rain forest foliage, then made his way back down to the gate. At the gate, he examined the tire prints and noticed that the vehicle had backed up over its own tracks. Next, he studied the gate itself. Close inspection revealed a wire running from the padlock, across the gate, and then through the hinges. He followed the wire for a ways as it touched the ground, then passed into a conduit of narrow PVC pipe laid on the ground. The pipe slithered up the mountain as far as he could see.

Mac back tracked until he reached Sam and Jack. "The tire tracks _are_ a decoy. So is the gate. It's wired. I think with an alarm. I didn't find any sign of explosives." He explained about the barricade and the paved road, and what he believed were Forest Service imposters.

Sam nodded. "That's why the message from Harry, if it was from Harry, didn't mention a turn before dirt."

Mac nodded. He pulled out the map again and marked their new position. The paved road they'd taken was on the map, but only as far up as the 'Road Closed' sign. No other roads, structures, dirt or otherwise, were listed above the sign. He sighed, then folded the map and shoved it into his back pocket.

"So, why is the gate booby-trapped?" asked Jack.

Mac shook his head. "I'm not sure, an early warning system is my best guess. In case someone tries to approach from that direction."

Sam nodded. "The tire tracks are a lure. Cut the padlock to follow the tracks and the kidnappers get a heads up."

Mac nodded. "And the fake Forest Service employees are a plant. Any searchers that come this way will be sent back down thinking the place has already been searched," he added.

"So, what's the plan, Mac?" asked Jack.

Mac looked up at the sky. Heavier clouds were rolling in, but he could still make out a hint of the sun's position. It was probably about one o'clock, he estimated. He studied the terrain. Finally, he answered. "We follow the booby-trap wire."

**Chapter Fourteen**

Mac, Sam and Jack crept through the forest. They followed the conduit of PVC pipe, that led from the gate, through the woods, then up the mountainside, paralleling the dirt road above Forest Service sign. The terrain was rough, but there were chopped off branches and ferns where someone had cleared a narrow path for the pipe. By the time they reached what they supposed was their destination, it was nearly seven pm. and the sun was setting. It had been raining steadily for about the last thirty minutes. Distant thunder hinted that the rain wouldn't let up any time soon. The men were soaked to the skin. Jack trembled from the cold. With the extra weight Jack carried, not to mention his recently discovered heart condition, Mac worried about him. He wished he'd left Jack back at the plane, for his own safety.

The three men lay on the ground at the edge of the forest and studied what lay before them. A tall chain link fence, topped by barbed wire surrounded a derelict old corn fired power plant. Grain silos stood behind the main structure, a battered concrete warehouse. Conveyors stretched between the silos and another aging building sat behind the silos, their wide belts busted and hanging in shreds, tilted at dangerous angles. A Peterbilt tractor trailer truck was parked outside of the main building.

Two guards carried heavy duty automatic rifles and patrolled the grounds. Another guard, who appeared to be of middle eastern descent stood outside the fence, an Uzi across his arms. All wore walkie-talkies. The door to the main building opened, and another armed guard escorted a small group of teenagers to a small building, waited, then escorted the children back inside.

"What do you think?" Jack whispered to Mac as they lay on the ground.

Mac studied the situation for a while longer. "Jack, do you think you can find your way back to the Jeep?"

"In the dark? Me? Alone?" Jack asked pointing at his chest. Mac stared at him and waited. "Of course I can, old buddy. I just have to follow the PVC pipe backwards." Mac smiled, he knew Jack wouldn't fail him. "What do you want me to do once I get to the Jeep?" Jack asked.

Mac shot a quick glance at Sam, laying on his other side, then back at Jack. "I want you to go back down until you get cell phone coverage, then call in our position to the FBI. Tell them every thing we've seen here, and about the gate alarm." He turned to Sam. "Hand me a flashlight." Then Mac gave Jack the flashlight, as well as the map on which he'd marked the various positions.

"I won't let you down, Mac," Jack told him.

Mac patted his friend on the back. "That's why I'm sending you, Jack." Jack Dalton slid backwards on his belly, farther into the trees, then stood and disappeared into the dense foliage.

Sam looked at his father. "Now what? We wait for the FBI?"

Mac shook his head. "Not a chance in hell. The FBI will bust in here, guns blasting. I'm afraid of what the kidnappers will do when that happens. I'm not going to risk Harry's, or the other kids' lives like that. I figure, knowing Jack, it'll take him twice the time it took us to get here, just to get that time, we get the kids out, then let the FBI round up the bad guys."

Sam nodded. "So, what's the plan?"

"We wait for full dark," Mac answered. He scanned the deepening sunset. "If this rain keeps up, the guards won't like standing outside after dark anymore than we do. At least, that's what I'm hoping."

While they waited for dark, more kids were brought outside to what Mac and Sam figured was a bathroom. The third group included Harry. Mac bit his tongue to keep from calling out to his son. Harry's God-awful black and sagging cargos were ripped. His black died hair, another bone of contention between Mac and his son, showed that he seriously needed time with a brush. Other than that, the boy seemed to be okay. Sam laid his hand across his father's back. Mac looked at Sam and smiled.

"Maybe those messages were from Harry after all," Sam noted.

"I wonder how he got a signal?" Mac mused.

Sam chuckled softly. "You just don't get it do you, Dad?"

Mac looked at him, his eyebrows pulled low.

"He's just _like_ you. You rebel against environmental and social injustices. Harry rebels against _you_. I mean, lets face it dad, he's only fourteen. What else does he have to rebel against except his parents? You build things, and fix things. So does Harry – like that firecracker." Sam shook his head. "I don't know how he got a cell phone signal. How would you do it?"

Mac sighed, then shook his head. "Harry used to build things. But not in years."

Sam chuckled again. "I guess now's as good a time as any to tell you about the ultra-light one man glider."

Mac looked at Sam, surprise all over his face. "What ultra-light glider?"

"The one Harry is building in my barn loft," Sam answered with a smile.

Mac stared at Sam for a long time, before he shook his head and chuckled. Then he shook his head again. "I'd try to link the auxiliary antenna port on the phone to one of those steel supports on the building," Mac finally answered Sam's first question.

Sam smiled. "There you go," he answered. "Come on Dad. Let's clear the fence while the guards are occupied. I'll give you a boost." Sam grinned, then bolted for the far corner of the fence.

Mac shook his head, grinned, then followed his son.

**Chapter Fifteen **

Murdoc felt the electronic pulse from the small alarm in his pocket. He smiled. The pocket alarm had been specifically designed for him. It was made from a garage door opener and featured a sensor running on the same frequency as the sensors concealed at the top of the fence. Basically, it worked like the shop-lifting prevention gates in retail stores – only it was silent. So far, MacGyver behaved exactly as Murdoc predicted. He knew, without checking that MacGyver had scaled the fence, _not_ some other military or police unit. He knew that to the bottom of his toes. Nothing on this earth would keep his old nemesis away when one of his children was involved.

Murdoc signaled to his partner, Abdullah Fayyad Abbas, then held up his alarm signal device. Abbas nodded. Using his walkie-talkie, the middle easterner fired off instructions to his men, then repeated them in English. On cue, the guard beside Nikki pulled her to her feet. Murdoc casually strolled to young Harry MacGyver, seated at the table. "Harry, its time," he told the boy.

Harry looked up at him and shook his head. "Leave me alone. Your lying. I won't believe you. And, I won't go with you. Just leave me alone," Harry answered.

Murdoc grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him from the bench seat. Harry struggled to gain his feet. "Listen Harry," Murdoc told him as he pulled Harry away from the rest of the children. He pulled the alarm device from his pocket. A red light slowly blinked. "This is your father's signal to me that he's on his way. If you are here when he gets here, you'll never get away from him." Murdoc added, using his best pleading voice. "Harry, you have to trust me."

Harry struggled with his emotions, with the memory of the pictures of his father breaking into secret nuclear sites, making bombs, smiling with this odious excuse for a human being. He shook his head. He stared at the blinking device in Murdoc's hand.

"Son," Murdoc pleaded, "By leaving here, I'm giving up seven and a half million dollars – just to keep you safe. I can't let your father make you over in his image. I just can't. It doesn't matter anymore if you believe me, now. Someday you _will_," Murdoc added.

Murdoc dragged Harry to a back door, then outside where a black Jeep Wrangler was parked. He shoved Harry into the passenger seat, but Harry jumped out as Murdoc turned to walk around the car. Murdoc caught him and shoved Harry back into the doorless Jeep. Using handcuffs he pulled from his pocket, Murdoc locked Harry's right wrist to the roll bar. "I'm sorry, Harry. You'll thank me for this one day. I'll be a good father to you, I promise," Murdoc explained as he climbed behind the wheel. Afraid the boy would call out, he removed his bandana from around his neck and gagged Harry.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"It's dark enough," Mac answered. He pushed himself to a crouch, from flat on his stomach, where they hid in the deepening shadows just inside the fence. With a quick glance in both directions, he bolted to the nearest side of the main building where a window, its glass broken and hanging in shards, shared the exterior with a single panel metal door. Sam padded quietly behind him. Then Mac resumed his crouch. He crab-walked to the edge of the building, using his finger tips to steady himself on the building's side. He peeked around the corner and checked the position of the guards.

Confident they had a few minutes, Mac looked at Sam with his finger to his lips. Sam nodded, understanding. Like a flash, Mac stood and took a quick peek through the window, then dropped back to a crouch. He looked at Sam and shook his head. "Not the main room," he whispered.

"Any guards?" Sam whispered back.

Mac shook his head. "Small room, storage maybe? Lights are out." He crab-walked to the door and put his ear to it, then tried the handle. Locked. Mac pointed to the window.

Sam reached up and gently removed a large piece of glass hanging from the window by rotting ropes of weatherstripping, while Mac pulled his gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. Mac stood, looked both ways, heaved himself into the window, then dropped down onto the floor inside. Sam handed Mac the backpack, then followed him inside.

With his hand over his flashlight's lens to block most of the light, Mac checked the room. The room appeared to be a small storage room, as he suspected. It was lined with rusted, leaning metal shelving units on all sides. There was a door in the far wall. Mac turned off his light and grabbed the doorknob. With a quick glance back at Sam, and a deep breath, he turned the knob and pulled open the door just enough to peer through with one eye, He looked briefly, then closed the door.

"The kids are at a row of tables in the center of the room eating," Mac explained. " I counted six armed guards watching them." he explained to Sam.

Mac tilted his head when he heard the sound of an engine from outside. He had driven enough Jeeps in his day to know the unmistakable sound of a Wrangler's engine when he heard it. He motioned Sam to the window. "See what's going on outside, but BE CAREFUL!" he whispered.

Sam crawled out the window and was gone just long enough for Mac to get worried. While he waited, Mac peeked out the door again. The kids looked okay, but he wasn't so sure about Nikki. A guard dragged her to a center support pole, tied her to the pole, then gagged her mouth. She looked like hell, Mac thought. He looked for Harry, but couldn't find him. A new knot of fear formed in his gut.

Sam returned, dropping quietly threw the open window. Mac illuminated his son's face with the tiniest bit of light from his flashlight. Sam's face was ashen.

"What is it?" Mac whispered.

"Harry." Sam whispered back. "Harry and a man in a black Jeep Wrangler just left."

"NO!" Mac whispered back. He dashed toward the window, but Sam caught his arm. "Dad, there are forty-eight other children in that room, automatic rifles aimed at their hearts. Are you going to leave them to face the consequences when the FBI come busting in here? Can you live with yourself if they all die?"

Mac stared into his son's face. Go after Harry now? Or free the children first? It was a hard decision. He stared at the window, his teeth clinched. Finally, he sank to the floor and leaned against the wall beside the door. If Harry dies, I die, Mac thought. But if those children die, how can I ever face Harry again?

Sam kneeled in front of him. "We get these kids out, then we find out where Harry went," Sam directed. "You know what to do," Sam added. "I don't."

Mac dropped his head to his knees, unaware that he assumed the same position his youngest son assumed earlier in the day. He was tired, so very tired. He felt like he couldn't go on but, slowly, he looked up at Sam and nodded.

The door burst open. Mac and Sam looked up into the muzzle of an AK47, illuminated by the light steaming through the open door. Sam rolled sideways, then slammed his feet against the first target he could reach, the guard's legs. "Go!" he yelled at his father. Mac dove through the window while Sam wrestled with the rifle's owner.

**Chapter Seventeen**

The Jeep, carrying Murdoc and Harry, barreled through the compound gate, and down the long, rutted dirt road. They passed through another gate, narrowly missing a Forest Service truck. They skidded in the mud several times as they barreled around the hairpin turns. With Murdoc's concentration on the road, Harry reached out with his left hand and grabbed the emergency brake. He pulled it up as hard as he could. The Jeep lurched, lost traction, and started to slide in the muck. Murdoc, grabbed Harry's hand in his vice-like grip in an attempt to pull the boy's hand from the brake. His attention diverted, Murdoc missed another sharp curve and the Jeep slid off the dirt track. With no traction, the Jeep began a slow slide down a muddy embankment. It hit a log and Harry's side bounced into the air. The Jeep hovered on two wheels for a moment, but the top heavy Jeep didn't have a wide enough wheel base, or enough weight behind it to pull it back to the ground. It slammed over onto its side, then began to slide faster as the mountain's slope increased.

Harry clung to the roll bar, thankful he was on the high side of the Jeep as it began its maddening descent. As he hung on, the Jeep slid between two trees as big as tractors. Harry slammed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Beside him, Murdoc scrambled to reach something on which to hold. Suddenly, the Jeep's back end slammed against a large tree and the vehicle bucked viciously, then spun like a top. Harry felt his body leave the seat. He felt his wrist snap, and massive bolts of pain shot up his arm but still, he clung to the roll bar with his other hand using every bit of his strength. Murdoc wasn't so lucky. Harry heard him scream as he was ejected from the Jeep.

As the small car continued its wild, spinning slide down the mountain, Harry pulled his antenna device from his pocket with his free hand. Using his teeth, he straightened out the loop of his earring. "Its just a matter of feeling the tumblers, Harry," he heard his father tell him. "You just have to shift their positions and the lock opens, see?" Harry closed his eyes and blocked out the careening motion of the Jeep, as well as the grinding sounds of wood on metal. He concentrated on his father's voice while he prodded the lock with the earring. He didn't feel the tears streaming down his eyes.

Murdoc raced after the careening Jeep. The slope was steep and he fell, scrambled to his feet, then ran again. Suddenly, in front of him, there was a break in the trees. The Jeep, with Harry still clinging to the roll bar, lay poised for a moment, silhouetted against the gray sky, almost like it was suspended in space. Murdoc shouted as he ran, slipped, then fell again. When he looked up, the Jeep was gone. Murdoc struggled to his feet and ran down the wide swatch that the sliding Jeep had cut through the undergrowth. Suddenly he heard an explosion and saw a flash of light. Sliding down the hill more than running, he reached the place where the trees ended. He waved his arms wildly to stop his descent when he realized that, not only did the trees end, but the ground as well. He fell to his knees and, supported by his palms, looked out over a fifty-foot cliff. The Jeep lay at the bottom in flames. The rain came down in a wild torrent. Lightning splashed across the sky closely followed by heart pounding thunder. Murdoc dropped his head.

**Chapter Eighteen**

Jack Dalton raised his hands as he looked down at the gun's muzzle shoved into his stomach. "Hey pal, do you know the way to the main road? I came out here to take a whiz, now I'm lost," he explained. Then he grinned for all he was worth. "Since when did taking a whiz become a crime?" he chided the Forest Ranger.

The second ranger relieved Jack of the flare gun in his belt, then pulled Jack's hands behind him and handcuffed him. "Hey, watch it. You haven't read me my rights or anything," Jack protested.

"You ain't got no rights here, PAL," the first ranger told him. Jack studied the man's face. "You aren't a Forest Ranger, are you?" he asked. He read the man's name tag. "And I'll bet your not 'Ranger Ray' either, are you?"

"Now what ever gave you that idea?" 'Ranger Ray' sneered at him.

The two men pushed Jack out of the woods where they found him, then shoved him into the back of a Forest Service truck. 'Ranger Ray' tied Jack's handcuffs to the truck's ladder rack, then climbed into the cab with his partner.

Jack yelled. "Hey! Its raining. Let me in the cab!" He lifted one leg and banged on the back window with his boot.

The driver looked at 'Ranger Ray'. "Can't we just shoot him now and get it over with?"

Lightning flashed, closely followed by thunder. Jack yelled again, and 'Ranger Ray' thumped on the window. Lightning flashed again, followed by a wicked clap of thunder.

"Let's get up the hill," the driver said. "I don't like the looks of this storm. He popped the truck into gear, eased it into four wheel drive, then started up the hill.

**Chapter Nineteen**

Mac crept around the building to study the situation from all directions. The pouring rain made visibility difficult, but it also worked in his favor as he predicted. No guards patrolled the premises. Instead, they hung out under the buildings narrow eaves. He chewed his lip. Think! He told himself.

He continued around the building until he came to a door on the far side away from where he and his son first entered the building. There was a window in the door and he peaked inside, confident that the interior lights of the building would blind any guards to his face outside in the dark. Inside. Nikki was still tied to a pole, her head drooping. The children were all lined up on the far wall. Four guards, all Caucasian, held the kids at gunpoint while three middle eastern men huddled together talking. One of them gestured wildly, and the other two broke off and headed out the main double doors. Sam lay on the floor out cold. His leg moved and Mac held his breath for a moment, but then Sam lay still again.

Mac heard splashing, footsteps in mud puddles. He bolted to the back corner of the building building, and ducked out of sight, just as one of the middle eastern men rounded the side corner of the building, his weapon at the ready. Mac looked around as best as could in the dark for something to work with. Finally, he saw a cement block. He heaved it up over his head. As the guard rounded his corner, Mac slammed the block against the man's head. He went down like, well, like a cement block. Mac grabbed the weapon, then felt for the man's pulse. He pulled the clip from the weapon and tossed it into the dark by the back fence. Then he shut off the man's walkie-talkie and shoved it into another one of his pockets. Straining under the man's weight, Mac dragged the guard to one of the silos, then shoved him inside and closed the silo hatch. He shoved a piece of re-bar into the lock bar, then went on the hunt for another guard.

Mac found the second middle eastern guard near the fence on the side where he had bolted out the open window. This time, Mac took a deep breath, then nonchalantly strolled up to the man. "Find him?" Mac asked. The man shook his head, then turned to look at him. Mac smiled. The man's face changed when he realized that Mac wasn't one of the guards. Before the guard could react any further, Mac slammed the butt of the rifle into the man's stomach. The guard doubled over. While he gasped for breath, Mac slammed his knee into the man's face, then brought the gun butt down, hard, on the man's head. Like his compatriot, the guard dropped like a rock. Mac pulled the clip from the man's rifle, then tossed the man's rifle over the fence where it landed with a splash into a mud puddle. The guard's walkie-talkie, and the clip, followed the rifle. After slipping the shoulder strap of the first rifle over his shoulder, he dragged the man to the silo. He relieved the man of his rain gear then, as with the first guard, Mac locked him inside.

Mac, dressed in the guard's camo-colored rain pants and parka, then pulled the parka hood over his head. "There, that's better," he muttered before shouldering the rifle again. By his count, that left just two guards outside, and five inside. Mac smiled. The odds were getting better all the time. He crept back toward the main building, all the while trying to figure out how in the world to get rid of the two outside guards, without alerting the guards inside. Peering around at the guards, his mind was a blank. Once again, he studied the things he could see in the dark and the driving rain. Then he remembered Sam's backpack and his own day pack. Maybe they were still in the storage room.

He ran back around the back of the building then around to the side. A quick peek in the broken window showed him that the storage room door was open, but there were no lights inside the small room. Illumination from the main room was just enough to allow him to see that Sam's back pack was gone, but his much smaller, and less noticeable day pack, sat overlooked in a corner. Luck was on his side. He climbed in the window, then slipped to the wall beside the door. He peeked into the main room. Sam wasn't any where to be seen. Mac grabbed the day pack and dived back out the window. He felt around in the bag until his hand closed around one of the water bottles full of gasoline. He smiled, then shoved the container back in the bag.

Running low, he ran back around the building to his vantage point at the corner. He checked the guards, who still maintained an alert stance, then, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he bolted to the back of the outhouse. Still maintaining a watch on the guards, he slipped around front, then into the outhouse. He crouched in the corner out of sight and examined the contents of the john by the glow of his lighter. Luck was still with him. There was a great deal of trash inside. There was also a pleasant surprise, a shovel.

Mac raised his eyebrows as he studied the shovel. "It might just work," he muttered. He laid it on the floor, blade down. Using the screwdriver on his Swiss army knife, he removed the back lid from the toilet seat. Next, he pried off a slab of two by six from which the rotting toilet bench was constructed, then another slab for good measure. These two wood slabs, he placed, side by side, and on end, under the shovel handle as a fulcrum. Next, Mac gathered up toilet paper from the floor, grimacing as he did so, then more smaller scraps of wood from the rotting toilet bench. He placed the toilet paper on the toilet seat, then the small scraps of wood on top of the toilet paper. He removed the bottle of gasoline from the day pack and poured a small amount on top of the wood and paper. Last of all, he placed the toilet seat lid on the back of the shovel blade. He checked the guards again, then with one swift click, he set the small stack of junk ablaze. Supporting his makeshift fulcrum, he pushed the shovel handle until the small blaze was visible in the door opening. It wouldn't burn long, but at least it might burn long enough to accomplish his goal, or so he hoped.

The fire blazed quickly, and a bit brighter than Mac planned, but it did what he wanted. Both guards came to investigate. Mac was ready. When the first guard reached the outhouse, Mac slammed his foot down on the shovel handle. The shovel blade see-sawed into the air and tossed the burning toilet seat up about two feet. The guard, startled, stepped back into his compatriot. They both fell into a tumble. Mac grabbed the shovel and slammed it down on the head of the top man, then onto the head of the bottom man before they react. He smiled. The stupid trick worked better than he hoped. He tossed their weapons and walkie-talkies down the deep outhouse shaft. When both men were securely locked in a silo, Mac sat down to rest a moment. He shook his head. "I'm too old to be doing this," Mac muttered between gasps for air.

While he rested, a Forest Service truck drove through the gate. No, not yet, Mac, the FBI can't be making its move, yet he thought. Not only were all the kids still under guard, Sam was as well. Then he heard loud cursing from the truck, as it hit a bump, and just before it stopped. Two men, dressed like forest service employees, exited the truck. Mac recognized them as the fake rangers that guarded the 'No admittance' sign down the road. At the moment, the only weapons they carried were the handguns in holsters on their hips. The rangers fumbled around in the truck bed, then dragged someone out onto the ground. Lightning illuminated the compound followed by a loud roll of thunder.

"Ouch! You guys need to learn some tack! You're a disgrace to the uniform!" It was Jack. Mac, still carrying the automatic rifle, and still dressed in the guard's rain gear, rolled his eyes, then jogged over to the truck.

"Hey, whose that?" he asked the rangers. He prayed Jack wouldn't break his cover. One of the rangers looked at Mac. "Who are you? I don't remember you." As the ranger reached for his handgun, Mac brought his rifle up to the man's face.

"Are you feeling lucky?" Mac asked.

"Yeah, go ahead, make his day," Jack answered just before he bulldozed into the second man.

Within minutes, both 'rangers' were locked into another silo. They were making a hell of a racket, but the loud, almost constant thunder drowned them out. Jack now wore the rain gear, while Mac was dressed as a Forest Ranger. Jack high-fived his old friend. "Where's Sam?" Jack asked.

Mac nodded toward the building. "They caught him."

"Not good. So," Jack asked. "What's the plan?"

**Chapter Twenty**

Murdoc slogged up the road to where he'd posted the 'Forest Service' guards at the 'Road Closed' sign. The gate was shut, but the truck was gone. He stomped his feet and cussed, picked up a rock and threw it at the sign. Nothing was going his way. First the kid died, then his hoped for new means of transportation disappeared.

"Its all MacGyver's fault," he muttered. He looked up at the pouring rain as thunder exploded around him again. "I hate you MacGyver! I hate you and all your spawn!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

His plan was falling apart. He'd accepted the contract to kidnap one of the Phoenix Foundation buses on the condition that he would be given Harry MacGyver as his payment. When he had the boy, he planned to gain the boy's trust. He'd raise Harry as his own son. Once he taught the boy every thing he knew, Murdoc would send him against MacGyver. It was the perfect plan. Nothing would destroy MacGyver faster than for his own son to become Murdoc's replacement. For MacGyver to have to battle, then lose to, or kill, his own son - it was Murdoc's perfect revenge.

But the boy was now a crispy critter, and Murdoc had no car. He pointed his nose up the hill. There was only one thing left to do. Kill MacGyver once and for all – after MacGyver learned of his baby's fiery death.

Murdoc put one foot in front of the other, and slogged through the mud up the hill.

**Chapter Twenty One**

Mac and Jack looked in the side window of the main building. They were confident that no more guards roamed the perimeter of the grounds. Inside, five guards still guarded the children. From this vantage point, he finally saw Sam. His son was tied to a steel support on the far side of the building, directly across from the children, behind the row of picnic tables. He was conscious and Mac breathed a sigh of relief. The guards, assuming Sam was now helpless, had their backs to him. The middle eastern guard stared at his walkie-talkie, shook it, pressed the button, then spoke. Mac looked at Jack, then pulled the walkie-talkie from his pocket. He moved away from the window, then turned it on. Rapid Arabic erupted from the speaker. Mac couldn't understand it, but he knew the tone. He turned off the speaker, then motioned Jack to follow him. "It sounds like guards might be getting worried about their friends. We've got to act fast," Mac explained as they jogged back around the building.

He posted Jack at the front door with the empty AK57. "Give me three minutes, then knock on the door and stand back. Take out anyone that comes out of this building," Mac whispered.

"Without a clip?" Jack whispered. Mac cocked his head at his friend. "Yeah, yeah. I get it," Jack answered. "No shooting."

Mac jogged back to the broken window on the far side of the building. He shed himself of the noisy rain gear, then, after a quick check, slipped inside. He tip-toed to the open door and looked into the room. The guards were discussing something in quiet voices, but their hand motions were agitated. They obviously knew something was up. He glanced at the children. To his surprise, a pretty red-haired girl stared directly at him. He held his finger to his lips. She bit her lip.

There was a loud bang on the front door and the guards spun toward the sound. Mac sprinted around behind the guards, his sneakers muffling his steps. Three of the guards advanced on the door, while two others kept their weapons trained on the children. Mac slipped behind the Coleman camp kitchen setup. He looked at Sam, just ten feet away from him. Sam looked back. Mac pulled his pocket knife from his pocket and gauged the distance between himself and his son. He popped open the largest blade and showed it to Sam. Sam nodded.

Two of the guards took positions on either side of the door. Mac ducked down using the kitchen set-up as a blind. The third guard, the last middle eastern man, stood in front of the door, his weapon up, his finger on the trigger. One of the guards by the door, opened the door. Nothing happened. Both of the guards by the door leaned outside and looked, then looked back inside. One of them shrugged his shoulders, then stepped outside. His partner followed him.

Mac tossed his pocket knife,handle first, into Sam's lap. Sam slipped his bound hands down the poll and, using his knees to hold the sharp knife steady, cut the ropes that bound him.

Suddenly, the red-haired girl yelled. "Ouch, Ouch, something bite me." She stood up, flapping her arms and screaming. **"ITS A SPIDER! OH MY GOD, I GOT BIT BY A SPIDER**! **Help me!**" She bolted up to the guard nearest her, dancing about, waving her arms. "**Look at me, I got bit, Oh my god, I'm going to die**." Before he could get his gun up, she wrapped her arms around him, pinning the gun to his side. ""**Help me, please. I don't want to die from a spider bite!**" she pleaded.

Mac grabbed the moment and bolted for the guard nearest him, the middle eastern man. Sam, simultaneously shot to his feet and took a flying leap, using the picnic table as a springboard into the other guard watching the children.

As both men reached their targets, the red-haired girl yelled to the rest of the kids. "**Get their guns, Oh my god, get their guns**," she shouted. Suddenly, the guards were surrounded by forty-seven angry teenagers, a few as big as line backers.

Mac and Sam waded into the pandemonium. They retrieved the weapons from the kids, and rescued the guards from the angry teenagers. Then Mac went in search of Jack, and the last two guards.

He found Jack seated on the hood of the Forest Service truck. The two guards were tied with the truck's front wench cable to the front of the truck. He pretended to smoke a cigarette. "It was good for me. Was it good for you?" he asked MacGyver.

Mac nodded and grinned. "How?"

"You want all of my secrets, good buddy?" Jack smirked

"Yeah, Jack. I do."

"Well, while I was standing at door, I thought, What would MacGyver do? Well, I didn't do what you told me. I stood by the truck with this pile of rubble, see? Then I threw those large pieces of cement at the door. Those over there, you see 'em?" he explained as he pointed at large chunks of concrete near the door. "Then, when the bad guys came out, I dropped the first one with a well thrown piece of cement to the guy's forehead. While his buddy was staring at the sky trying to figure out why the sky was falling, I sneaked up on him with this bad-ass gun here and shoved it into his back. He dropped his weapon real quick, then I tied them both up with this wench cable. Problem solved, bucko."

Mac grinned and shook his head. "Good job, Jack." He patted his friend on the back. Then strolled back in side, leaving Jack to guard his charges.

Nikki met him at the door. The red-haired girl, stood beside, and slightly behind her. Nikki flung her arms around Mac. "I knew you would come. I just knew it," she whispered in his ear.

Mac's eyes stayed on the red-haired girl. He patted Nikki's back, then freed himself from her grasp. He advanced on the teenager. "**WHY DID YOU DO THAT?**" He shouted at her much louder than he meant to and she cowered away from him. He gently grabbed her arm. "You could have been killed. All of you could have killed," he added with a gentler tone.

"It just came over me," the girl whispered, her eyes downcast. Then she cut her eyes up. She had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen – green as cat's eyes. "Your Harry's father aren't you? He said you'd come."

Mac stroked her wildly curly hair. "Yeah," he whispered. "Do you know where he went?"

The girl shook her head. "That man took him. Harry called him 'bomber-coat dude'.

Mac felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned to look into Nikki's eyes.

"It was Murdoc, Mac. Murdoc has Harry," she told him.

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Murdoc hid at the fence gate and watched the final collapse of his plans. Jack Dalton sat on the hood of the truck. MacGyver was at the door talking to Harry's little red-headed girlfriend. He didn't exactly know how MacGyver overcame the guards and freed the children, but he wasn't surprised.

He waited until MacGyver disappeared into the building, then pulled his gun from his coat pocket and checked the load. He quietly slipped into the compound. Then, he advanced on the truck, dropping low to avoid being seen. When he reached the wheel well, just to the side of Dalton, he popped up and shoved the muzzle of the gun into Jack's neck.

"Just keep real quiet, BUCKO," Murdoc told Jack. "And maybe I'll let you live."

Jack, cut his eyes toward the gun without moving his head. "I'd know that loathsome voice anywhere, Murdoc. I thought you were dead."

"Not likely, Dalton. I'm like a cat, and I've yet to reach my ninth life," Murdoc sneered. "Now, very slowly, get off that truck."

Jack, his hands in the air, slid off the side of the truck and landed beside Murdoc. "Untie the guards," Murdoc instructed. Jack cut his eyes toward the door.

He couldn't see Mac or Sam. That meant no help was forthcoming. Jack nodded, then unhooked the wench hook and freed the guards.

Murdoc shoved Jack with the gun, and directed him to the building. The guards, re-armed, flanked them.

From near the entrance, Murdoc watched the children celebrate their freedom. Nikki and MacGyver's son, Sam wandered through the kids, reassuring them that all was well. MacGyver, stood beside a metal support post. He worked on a cell phone with his pocket knife. Murdoc pushed Jack into the entrance, while keeping himself hidden behind the wall. He kept his gun pushed against Jack's throat. "Call him over," Murdoc ordered Jack.

"No," Jack answered.

Murdoc, maintaining his hand on Jack's arm, turned the gun and pointed inside the building. "If you aren't worried about your life, what about Sam's? He's the only son MacGyver has left alive. Do you want him as dead as Harry?" Murdoc hissed. "You decide. Who should live? MacGyver or Sam?"

Jack let out an unsteady breath as the news of Harry's death jolted his heart. He nodded. Without question, he knew what Mac's answer would be to that question. He shouted. "Mac! Hey Mac! Can you come over here?"

MacGyver looked over at the door. Jack stood there. Jack stood too straight, his position too awkward, too formal. Mac glanced around the room. No one paid any attention to him, or to the door where Jack stood. Mac sat down his phone and the antenna booster he was working on, and strolled to the door. "Jack, what's wrong?" Jack backed out of the doorway. Mac raised his eyebrows. "Jack?" He stepped to the door. Jack stood about five feet away. Murdoc had a pistol shoved against Jack's neck. The guards that Jack subdued earlier, flanked them, their automatic rifles at the ready.

"Murdoc," Mac hissed. "Where's my son?" He advanced on Murdoc, but one of the guards shoved his gun against Mac's gut. He stopped. "Where's Harry?"

Murdoc shoved Jack and told the nearest guard to take him away. He turned his gun on MacGyver. "I hate to be the bearer of sad news, MacGyver. However, sometimes even I have to do things I don't want to do. Harry's dead. Burned to death." Murdoc smiled. MacGyver wavered on his feet.

Murdoc stepped closer. "How does it feel, MacGyver? He died. Harry died. He fell fifty feet into a ravine handcuffed to a Jeep. You want to know something else? He died thinking you are a traitor, an assassin, and a terrorist. Harry died thinking you were the mastermind behind this kidnapping plot, MacGyver. How does it feel?" he hissed into Mac's face.

Mac could feel Murdoc's hot, putrid breath on his face.

Murdoc pushed the gun into MacGyver's face. "I'm going to let you think about that for a minute before I kill you, MacGyver. I'm going to let you think about how afraid Harry must have been when my Jeep went over the cliff. I'm going to let you think about how it felt when the car hit the ground, and when the gas exploded and the flames engulfed his hair and his clothes. Think about it, MacGyver," Murdoc whispered.

Mac swayed on his feet.

"Think about how you failed him, MacGyver – before I kill you."

MacGyver heard the sounds of choppers approaching and glanced up. Murdoc looked over his shoulder as spotlights advanced toward the compound. Murdoc turned back to MacGyver. "On second thought, I'm going to let you brood over Harry's death for the rest of your natural life. I'm going to enjoy thinking about you dying inside a little bit every day until the grief gets to be too much to bear and you blow your own brains out, MacGyver."

With that, Murdoc turned and bolted to the service truck. The guards jumped in the truck bed as Murdoc spun the tires and pointed the car out of the compound.

Mac sank to his knees. His head dropped into his hands. Spotlights from the chopper illuminated him. Jack fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around his friend.

**Chapter Twenty Three**

Harry clung to the tree branch with his good hand. The other hand hung loose at his side. He knew it was broken. He looked down and knew looking was a mistake. His head started to spin, so he forced his body closer against the mud cliff. Below him, the flames that erupted from the Jeep started to sputter as the gas was consumed. As he hung on for dear life, the drenching rain soaked the car and the flames died. He looked up. Every thing was black as pitch.

He heard his father's voice again. "You can do it, Harry. Climb. You can't fall, I've got you on belay from up here and Molly's got you from below. Just put one hand up, then your foot. Find the holes, Harry. Come on."

Harry nodded. He pulled one foot up and jammed it against the mud, found a rock and hooked it with the toe of his high top. He pushed up. "That's good, Harry. Now the other foot. You're moving, Harry!" his father told him. His picked up his other foot and shoved up, tugging the tree branch with his good hand. Rain water streamed down his face. Lightning flashed, followed by a loud clash of thunder. His foot found a tree root, and he pushed further up the cliff.

"Here's my hand, Harry," his father told him. "Reach out."

Harry stared at the branch clutched in his hand. He sucked in a deep breath, and let go. As he did, he shoved with his feet as hard as he could propelling him up. He grabbed the branch again, but further up this time. Slowly, he made his way up the cliff face until he hooked his stomach over the cliff edge. Again he reached out his hand and shoved with his feet. His grabbed a root and pulled. He pulled with every thing he had in him, until his knees cleared the cliff. Panting, he lay on the ground to rest for a moment before he pulled his knees up and scooted farther away for the edge.

Harry tucked his broken wrist into the crook of his other arm. The pain was almost unbearable and he cried out. He laid on his back and stared at the black sky while more lightning flashed and rained pounded his face, until the pain slowed to a manageable throb. Finally, he pushed himself to a sitting position, and tugged off his black t-shirt. He felt around on the ground around him until he found several stout twigs. Using the t-shirt as a bandage, he splinted his wrist. Then, using his good hand as a prop, he pushed himself to his feet. Blinded by the rain and the dark, he stumbled up the mountain. When the lightning flashed again, he found the path the Jeep made as it cut through the down the hill. Slowly, following the path, Harry reached the dirt road. Once there, indecision froze him into place. Should he go up the hill and try to help the other kids? Or should he go down and try to get a cell signal? Which way did Murdoc go?

He turned down the hill. What could he do with a broken wrist? he decided. He'd find a way to call someone. He plodded through the mud as the rain increased into a blinding torrent. Rivers of water poured down the dirt road, causing him to slip and fall, not once, but several times. Harry could see neither right nor left. The only thing that kept him on the road was the feel of the soft ferns that lined the shoulder when he wandered off the road . "

Its just rain, Harry. You won't melt," his father told him. "Come on. Soon we'll be sitting in the tent eating your mom's homemade granola. Come on, son. One foot in front of the other. That's right." Harry slogged on. Without a shirt on, he was entirely exposed. He started to shiver, then his teeth started to chatter. Still, he kept walking through the rain. His feet struck pavement, and he picked up his pace.

The lightning flashed again as he struggled through the storm. To his right, he saw a brief reflection during the flash of light. At first, he kept walking, thinking what he saw was rain on a leaf. But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to check it out. He turned around and plodded back up the road, feeling the edge of the asphalt with his feet as he peered into the dark to his side.

When next bolt lit the sky, he saw a dirt side road in the general direction of the reflection. Harry turned down the road and walked. When the lightning lit the area again, he stopped and took in his surroundings. The road seemed to go forever on, but he saw the reflection again further down this side road. It was bigger and brighter this time. He began to seriously doubt that it was water on a leaf. He picked up his pace. When he reached the point from where he thought the reflection originated, he stopped and waited for the lightning again – and the reflection.

There, he saw it. He pushed through a dense, but narrow strand of brush. His hand found metal. The lightning flashed again illuminating a dark colored Jeep Cherokee. It's side mirror reflected the lightning and sent a brief, but bright flash across the road.

Harry tried the doors. They were all locked, as was the back hatch. He felt around the ground until he found a large rock and smashed it against the front side window again and again until it shattered. Using a stick, he cleared enough space of glass until he could safely reach in the window. Still, as he felt for a lock switch, he arm slashed across shards of glass still embedded in the window. They sliced his arm like a saw. Finally, he found the switch and heard the click of the locks as they disengaged.

Harry opened the back seat door and crawled in. Leaning over the console, he felt for keys, but found none. Then he checked the glove compartment – nothing. He reached into the cargo space in the back and found a sleeping bag and some much needed water along with a man's shirt and jacket. He shrugged into the shirt. As the sleeve slid over the cut on his arm, he cried out in pain. He could feel glass still embedded in the wound.

Harry reached into his sneaker and pulled out his cell. He dried it off the best that he could on the cloth seat covers then flipped it on. Nothing happened. He pried off the case and removed the battery, then the Sim chip, then dried those as well. Using a corner of the cotton shirt, he dried the internal parts of the phone as much as possible, then put everything back together. He flipped on the phone. Nothing happened. He took it apart and laid all of the parts out on the seat to dry.

Next, Harry climbed over the console into the driver's seat and reached beneath the steering column. To his dismay, unlike his dad's old Jeep that Harry liked to drive around the farm, this Cherokee had an access hood. No matter hard he tried, the fingers on his good hand shook so hard that he couldn't pull it off. The lightning flashed and, for the first time, he saw the blood that soaked his shirt sleeve, and ran down his fingers.

Frantic, he climbed back into the back seat and, using his teeth, ripped the nylon cloth cover of the sleeping bag until he had several good strips. He ripped the shirt sleeve, then pulled a handful of fiberfill from the torn bag. He wadded the padding against his laceration, then bound it down tight with the nylon strips. He leaned his back on the seat to quell his rapid breathing. It didn't seem to help, so he went back to work on drying out the phone.

His broken hand started to rapidly shake. He couldn't control it. Pain shot up his arm again and he cried out. A wave of heat surged through him and he started to sweat, then shiver in succession. Another wave, this time of dizziness swept over him. He took a deep breath to alleviate the feeling, but it got worse. Harry swayed back and forth, then collapsed onto the seat.

**Chapter Twenty Four**

The first rays of light broke over the mountains as Mac stared through the helicopter window into the ravine. The chopper made a slow pass over the mangled, burned out shell of the Jeep below him, illuminating it with its spotlights. It lay on its side, barely visible amid the tall trees around it. A splat of charred ground surrounded the wreckage. Sam sat beside him, his head resting on his father's shoulder, his father's hand clasped in his. Mac shook his head and pursed his lips, but it didn't stop the tears from running down his cheek. He didn't care.

"Mr. MacGyver? There are too many trees for us to put a chopper in there," Ranger Dana Addison explained gently from the seat across from him. "But we've already got ground crews headed in. We'll bring him out to you. I promise."

Mac shook his head. "I promised." He shook his head again. "I promised." He looked over at Sam, then slipped his arm around his remaining son. Sam wrapped his father in his arms and they wept together as the helicopter banked than headed for the nearest Forest Service headquarters.

Jack spoke softly to the ranger. "How long until you get the kids to the hospital?" he asked.

Addison scooted over to Jack, giving the MacGyver's privacy. She checked her watch. "The military transport choppers that picked up the kids and their chaperon, should have already reached Spokane Memorial Hospital " she added quietly. "From there, we'll let them contact their families."

Jack nodded. "Any luck finding Murdoc?"

She shook her head.

"So how did you find us anyway?" Jack asked.

"Dumb luck, and Harry MacGyver," she answered. "I knew about where you were headed, thanks to Harry's messages. We just kept criss crossing the mountains from your last known position and what Harry said until we saw something. That old mill never crossed our minds. Its been shut down so long, and the road blocked off - its no longer on any of our maps. I'm sorry for that," she answered.

Jack nodded and waved his hand. "Tear the damn thing down, would ya?" he asked.

Addison smiled. "You bet."

They were silent the rest of the trip as the helicopter skimmed the trees, then settled down softly on the grass heliopad adjacent to the Forest Service headquarters near Mt. Ranier. A small crowd of FBI agents, state troopers, and forest service employees stood in the morning mist, the last remnants of the storm, as Mac, Sam and Jack disembarked the chopper. An ambulance, called for Mac and Sam, just in case, waited near the building. As the three passed the waiting people, the people applauded. Addison led them into the office where a pile of blankets and hot coffee waited. An EMT checked their vitals.

Sam wrapped his dad up in a blanket, then himself, while Jack found a cot on which to sleep. He softly snored while Sam accepted two cups of coffee from Addison. His father was shivering. Sam handed Mac the cup of coffee. Sam was concerned for his dad. For the first time in his life, Mac looked old to him. Back in the day, Mac could take anything life could dish out, but he wasn't a kid any longer. Sam knew that his father's knees caused him a lot of pain these days from the brutal punishment they took in the past. Mac also suffered from some back problems. Between the two, Mac's exercise level had decreased somewhat, and with that a mild weight gain. Plus, neither he or his dad had slept for two days. "Dad? This will warm you up," he encouraged his father to drink.

Mac looked at up at his son. He shook his head, started to say something, then closed his mouth. He looked down at the cup in his hand, then shook his head again. "Sam," he looked up. "I can't just sit here. Until I find Harry's... until I see him, I have to have hope." He set the cup on the floor and stood. He dropped the blanket on the back of the sofa.

"Dad," Sam stopped his father with a touch on his arm. "No. I'll do it. I'll go. You get some rest."

Mac rested his hand on his son's shoulder, shook his head, then headed for the door. Sam followed in his wake. They passed FBI Agent Thomas who was engaged in a lively telephone call on his cell. Thomas saw them and waved for them to come closer, but Mac kept on walking. Thomas pounded on the desk to get their attention and Sam heard him say into the phone, "Wait a minute, just hold on." He put the receiver to her chest. "MacGyver?"

Mac kept walking. He reached the door and put out his hand to the knob. Agent Thomas spoke louder. "MacGyver! 9-1-1 just received a weak call from a cell. They've patched it through to the FBI. It's from Harry."

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

Harry woke up scrunched up in the floor board of the back seat. He didn't know just how long he'd been out, but the rain had stopped, and the sky was lighter. He thought he heard a helicopter, but he wasn't sure. He could no longer move his right arm. And, he could feel his blood pulse through the left arm. His hand was sticky from the coagulating blood that had pooled in his palm. The pain from the combined wounds was immense. Still, he managed to push himself from the floorboard. He gathered the parts of the phone and fitted them back together, then flipped it open. The light came on, but he still had no signal. Dizziness washed over him again, and he felt himself passing out again, but he took a deep breath and pushed past it. He fought to focus his eyes to see the bars – to see if he had a signal. There was none.

He forced himself to climb back into the front seat, then opened the glove compartment with his left hand. He gave the compartment door a solid jerk and the entire compartment came out in his hand, exposing the dashboard wires behind. Harry gently pulled one of the wires toward him. He didn't want to jerk it free from the car's electrical system. Using his teeth as a hand, he pulled the fuse from one end of the wire, and spat it to the floor board. As the dizziness swept over him again, he jabbed the wire into the antenna port of the phone. He flipped it open again. He had one bar.

Harry dialed.

"9-1-1. What is the nature of your emergency?" a jovial voice answered.

"My name is Harry MacGyver," he answered weakly into the phone. "I'm in..."

"Sir? Mr. MacGyver?" the operator answered. "Sir? I can barely hear you. You're breaking up. Can you hear me?" She waited for a moment for a response, then called her supervisor over. "I have a call from a mobile phone and I'm getting no response from the caller. The phone is still transmitting, but the caller isn't answering. He said his name is Harry MacGyver before he went silent. He sounded pretty young, maybe a teenager?" the operator told her supervisor.

The supervisor plugged into the line. "Hello? Mr. MacGyver?" She waited, listening, then shook her head at the other operator. She wrote down the caller identification information. "Start a trace on the phone's location," she told the operator. The supervisor turned and tapped into her direct line to the Spokane Police Department. "Dispatch? This is 9-1-1 Supervisor Helms. We have an unresponsive caller on our line. We are, at this time, attempting to acertain the phone's position. The caller's name is Harry MacGyver. The phone is registered to Mr. A. MacGyver, Minnesota area code. Have you recieved calls from these individuals, or this number?" She read the ten-digit number to the police dispatcher.

The police dispatch operator typed Harry's name into her database and ran a general search. Harry's name came up, red flagged as an Amber Alert child with directions to contact the FBI immediately with any information. The dispatcher immediately called the Washington State FBI Bureau out of Spokane who, in turn, tapped into the 9-1-1 database.

Agent Thomas wrote coordinate points on a piece of Forest Service stationary as he listened to the call. The MacGyvers waited impatiently in front of him. As soon as he had the coordinates, he shouted for a medic. The EMT grabbed his kit. He joined the agent and the MacGyvers in the dash from the building to the Forest Service helicopter.

The agent waved for the pilot to gear up and the four men climbed aboard. Thomas handed the coordinates to the pilot.

Thomas looked at MacGyver and his son. "Your boy managed to get the call out, but is not responding to the 9-1-1 operator, he explained. All they got out of him was his name, and your name on the mobile caller id, Mr. MacGyver, as the owner of the phone. They've estimated the location of the signal based on its strength to the nearest towers."

"Where? Where is he?" Mac asked leaning toward the agent.

"Near the foot of Mt. Ranier, sir. Close to where you found the other kids."

The helicopter took off into the morning sun.

Harry felt a warm touch. He heard his father's voice. "Harry? Harry? Can you hear me son?"

"I don't want to get up. I don't feel good, dad." Harry rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

"He's in shock," someone said. Harry didn't know who it was. It sounded like the dude on 'Bones' – the FBI guy that made his own beer and was too chicken to kiss the girl.

"Turn off the TV, Molly," Harry muttered.

He felt his body lift and he was tucked between two solid masses of warmth. He snuggled into the cradle between them.

Someone kissed his forehead. "Aw, Mom," he muttered.

"Stretch him out here, dad," Harry recognized Sam.

"Watch his arm, and his hand," his dad said.

"My arm hurts, daddy," Harry answered quietly.

Some one stroked his head. "I know it does, son. Just lay still. Daddy's here."

"He's lost a good deal of blood," that 'Bones' guy said. Something jabbed into his arm and Harry cried out in pain. Someone cradled him.

"Magenta has pretty red-hair," Harry muttered.

"And pretty green eyes," his father answered.

"Can I have my thumbelator?" Harry asked. "My hands are all pinkled up."

"He's hallalugenating," Sponge Bob answered.

"I love you, dad," Harry whispered too low for anyone to hear, but MacGyver.

There was a roaring noise. Harry looked at the merry-go-round. 'Bomber-coat dude' was laughing and riding it around and around and...

MacGyver stroked his youngest son's head while the EMT took Harry's vital signs and inserted an IV drip. Sam touched his father's arm, and smiled. "He's going to be okay," he told his dad.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

The sun was in Harry's eyes, and his face felt warm. He opened his eyes and immediately recognized that he was in a hospital. His right arm was in a cast, and elevated in some sling-type device. His left arm was bandaged as well. Narrow tubes taped down with medical tape, poked from under the bandage. More tubes were taped to the back of his left hand. There was something, a tube, maybe? In his mouth.

He felt groggy, and his head hurt. He looked around the room. His mom napped in a chair beside his bed. His dad sat with his head in his hands at the foot of the bed. He heard a familiar voice and turned his head. Sam walked outside the door to his room, his phone to his ear. He was talking about him.

It took Harry a minute or two to remember how he came to be in the hospital. Then it all came pouring back – the kidnapping, Murdoc, the pictures of his father.

He tried to wet his lips, but the tube got in the way. His father looked up, then stood and came around the side of the bed away from his mom. He pulled up a chair close to the bed and sat down. He rubbed an small ice cube on Harry's lips, then plopped it into his mouth. Harry held the cube in his mouth until it melted, while his father stroked his head.

"Hey Harry, how are you feeling?" his dad finally asked him gently.

"Like I got kidnapped, fell off a mountain, then amputated my arm," Harry mumbled around the tube.

His dad smiled. "You did. Well, maybe not the amputation part, but all the rest."

Then his mom was at his other side. She cooed and stroked him until he was embarrassed.

Sam came in the room. He shoved his phone in his pocket, then placed both of his hands on their dad's shoulders. "Hey sport! Glad to see you back in the world of the living." Harry tried to smile. "You know, Harry. We've got a lot to talk about. You're headline news, and guess who has the exclusive?"

Harry pointed at Sam with the index finger of his right hand. Sam grinned. "That's right, ME!"

Molly flounced into the room, two cups of coffee clutched in her hands. "Harry! You're awake!" She handed the cups to Mom and Sam.

Sam leaned down closer to Harry. "CNN has been running the other kids' stories since yesterday morning, but they're chomping at the bit for yours. And Katie Couric called. Katie Couric, Harry!"

"I don't think Harry's quite ready for Katie Couric, yet, Sam," Mom answered for him.

"She'll wait," Sam answered. "They'll all wait. Won't they Harry?"

Sam straightened up. "Molly, this coffee stinks. Why don't we go down to the cafeteria and get some real breakfast."

Molly cut her blue eyes up at Sam. "Are you buying?"

"I'm buying. Beth? You've been in here for twenty hours without a break. Why don't you join us?" Sam added.

Harry looked up at his Mom. He nodded. "I'm okay," he mumbled.

She stroked his head again, then looked at his dad. She nodded. "I am getting hungry. You sure you'll be okay?" she asked.

Harry nodded and they left.

Harry looked over at his dad. The pictures that Murdoc showed him flooded his thoughts. His dad must have read his mind because he said. "Sometimes, I forget how grown up you are, Harry. Because of that, there are things I never told you. I just didn't think you were ready. But, I think maybe, now is the time." Dad picked something up from the little table beside the bed. He showed a picture to Harry. It was one of the pictures Murdoc showed him. The one that showed his dad breaking into a US military facility. Harry closed his eyes and turned his head away from his father.

"Harry. Nikki Carpenter told me what Murdoc said to you. Son, he lied to you." His dad started to talk. He talked for a long time about DSX and the CIA, about Dick Cheney, about Pete Thornton, and about the Phoenix Foundation. And MacGyver told his son about Murdoc. When he was finished, MacGyver opened a battered cigar box. He showed Harry his President's Award for Distinguished Federal Civilian Service, his National Security Medals, his Presidential Citizen's Medal. Last of all, he pulled out his Presidential Medal of Freedom. "These never meant anything to me before, Harry. I did what I did, because I wanted to help people, not for glory. But now, they mean every thing to me if they can convince you that I'm not like Murdoc," his dad explained, his hands gripped the bed rail.

Harry shook his head. "I know," he mumbled. "I feel bad because, for a moment, I doubted you. But, in the car, when I got the cell to work, I read your text. The one that said to trust you." He lifted his right arm and reached across his chest and touched his father's hand. His voice drifted lower, softer and softer until Mac had to lean close to hear him. "I smelled your smell on the shirt. I heard you talking to me on the mountain, and on the road. I knew you would come. I knew he lied," Harry answered, then he drifted back into sleep.

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

Harry, dressed in a new pair of black Twiggs cargos and a My Chemical Romance 'Welcome to the Black Parade' t-shirt, with new black Converses on his feet, rolled down the hospital hall in the required wheel chair, pushed by his dad. Sam walked beside them, his mom and Molly behind. They rounded a corner and entered the lobby, then went out the main entrance. A crowd of people stood outside. Many of them carried microphones and cameras. When they saw Harry, they erupted into applause. A pretty middle-aged woman with short blond hair, stood in front of the crowd, flanked by spotlights. Sam leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear. "Katie Couric."

Katie Couric smiled at him and handed him a bouquet of roses, then spoke in a microphone. "Harry, how does it feel knowing that your text messages led to the safe recovery of the students aboard the Phoenix Foundation camp bus?" she pushed the microphone toward his face.

Overwhelmed, he looked up at his dad, then over at Sam. "I... I'm just glad everyone's okay," he answered. "And I want to go home," he added. More microphones were shoved into his face, and bright flashes blinded him. A lot of people started to talk at once.

Sam raised his hands. "You heard the man. He wants to go home."

With the help of hospital security guards, a path was cleared and Harry climbed into a rented mini-van. Sam took the wheel. He drove them to a hotel nearby, where more members of the press waited. A small phalanx of Spokane's finest barred the press corps' entry into the hotel. One of them opened the door for Harry and tipped his cap. Harry blushed, then entered the hotel.

Inside, Mac leaned over to his son. "Harry, there are some people who really want to say hello to you, if you don't mind. They're waiting in the conference room over there." Harry looked at his father, then at the double doors at which he pointed. As Harry neared the doors, a doorman opened them for him.

The first thing he noticed was the banner hung on the back wall under a ceiling full of balloons. It said, "Get well soon, Harry." Then he noticed the kids. Harry stepped into the room and was immediately surrounded by forty seven teenagers of all races, all national origins, and all sexes. They hugged him and patted his back. The noise of their chatter was almost deafening, and very confusing.

Harry didn't know which way to turn, until he saw her. She wore a 'black lolita' dress, cut really short, with black tights and black Vans. Black lacy fingerless gloves covered her arms. Her dark red hair was pulled up in a weird pony tail that stuck out in several directions before it cascaded in curly waves down her back and over her shoulder. She smiled, then pulled him into his arms.

That was when Harry kissed her. Right there in front of his parents! She kissed him back, really hard. It was a _really _good kiss.

Mac grinned, then pulled his wife away from the kids. He motioned for Sam and Molly to follow. As they joined the rest of the parents standing around the walls, Mac heard a woman yell his name. "MacGyver. Oh my God! MacGyver!"

He turned around to see a beautiful woman with very dark curly hair, with just a hint of red. She waved at him as she pushed her way through the crowd. She bounced as she moved. His eyes widened in surprise. "Lulu? Lulu is that you?" She literally threw herself at him, jumping into his arms. He had no other recourse but to hug her back. Finally, he put her down and held her back with his hands on her shoulders. "Lulu, what are you doing here?"

"The same thing you're doing! Getting my kid!" she answered brightly.

"Your kid is here?" Mac asked in surprise.

"Well, yeah," she answered.

Mac looked at the throng of teenagers.

"Which one is yours?" he asked.

"Silly, she's the one kissing your son. Who else?"


End file.
